"Oh, Sol" -
That is this,
Which is what
She said, She said:"Have a got a little story for you:
I Gnow what it's like to never-be-dead."
How does you, to "never-be?"
Why, with a hole like a head.
(Rather click YouBoobTube
Than read these rhymes?
Go right ahead. . .)
But I need
A reminder,
Must re-Mind with her,
The story
That I won't get insane;
Chris doesn’t die, He's still alive,
Oh;
A Pretty-Noose can't kill
The Grunge that's inside, &
It's still alive. . .
Blew up the the Outside World &
I Am still alive.
Cris & Curt Kirkwood kicked it
Off to formulate it infinitely -
Yeah, they're really quite alive
(Guess they "stored it deep inside Me," how contrived!).
"I Am a desert creature!"
Screams Paul Atreides,"I'll dive & die in this blow &
You'll find me ALIVE!"
Little sand, dash of Spice, &
Splash of The Water of Life
keeps Moad'Dib
Alive.
2021 & Chris Cornell & Curt Kobain’s
Brains are hung & blown,
But their minds keep blowing mine,
Like that glitdazzled cocaine
On Zero One / Zero One / Year Zero,
Damn I was spun -
Just such a blow to the head,
Yeah -
Don't think I'm dead, nah,
We’re still alive -
We don’t die-
Blow to my nose
'till it's severing up both sides,
Blow up the outside world & ohhh,
Can’t go away in "the end,"
Nah,
linear
thoughts
are
all
that
need
end)
.
Drowned in the booze, then,
Maybe
My Empire of Curts
Is just what I needed to
Stay alive, oh,
ALIVE &
Thrive on this Jive:
I’m still alive;
Went down-down the downward spiral and at the bottom
I’m still alive. .It was the bottom-basement of Reznor's Manson,
Then it went down-down Downtown,
Yeah,
It was dying at the corner of Esplanade & Bourbon,
But I'm still fortunately-connectingly
With thee
And he and she and ze and
Yeah still me,
with a
Life, so Alive,
Yeah,
Then reaching to the Darkest Depths with the K, OK?
And still, still as my twin was never born I'm alive.
Death isn’t the opposite of life -
There’s no opposite of life,
it's just All & All:
So Alive.
We Come from The Water to live
The grounded life.
Now we come as we are:
Bipedal, land-dwelling....
Headed for the sky,Yeah:
A Musky message from the literal
Literary "heavens:"
“Don’t Panic”
Yeah do not!
& we’ll reach beyond the sky. . .
(fast-forward the VHS):
This girl and that guy -
Martian born,
Like Dwayne Junior.
Though, I never knew they
had a NOLA on the 4th Rock -
Sounds like the culture's in place
For Elon's fresh Space.
Now
Onto the next sky -
On to the next one,
Yeah,
We’re still alive.
I make
A living by
Killing myself...
but death is just another
Hole to dance around,
So I Am:
Making a killing off keeping my health.
We keep it alive -
Dance around
The Anti-Massive Death Hole &
Thrive with my Jive:
Dance, Dance,
Not Macabre,
But,
With your reddest pants &
Your souls' authentic indiglows &
The Spirit's blessed Will-to-Grow.
In the meantime -
Gritty beats dominate
Thee ee-dee-emm sceene,
Yeah -
Them turntable cats kicked it off with a drum &
Grungey bass for your face -
Datz such sick nectar,
Ill over your
21st-Century-COVID-schizoid,
Bored-to-tears,
And fancy-in-all&all-the-local-
Face.
Slimey Snailz gwon
Ribbit a-PUH-art at
An alarmingly-decibeled, amphibious pace.
Subsonic illusion of Doom -
For your amygdala's gross desire
To put-it-in-the-gutter,
Collapse,
Get hollowed, swallowed:
Need / Dream / Find / Taste /
Fuck / Use / Scar / Break
Lose / Hate
You, so
Smash me! (like the chick in the other poem)...
Erase.
Don’t you wanna go down,
Huh?
Wanna get Lower-than-Low like
Some junkie psychonaut.
Beyond oh-K! in a Meth-Ox-Forgetta-Mean
Supermassive Down-Low:
Something like the elusive,
Elysian,
Eleusinian
Bottom of the Mind Hole.
Hey now -
-------
-------
--
-------
-------
All the way down here, pal.
"Sir" Panic,
DON'T Panic. . .
(How ya gonna poem your way out
of this one?
Koin your new nomenclature:
"Pedro-I-Don't-Ever-Go-Paniko?
Or maybe
"Petrafire, the Long-Lost Panik-Defyer"
Some punk-ass three-week sober drunk. . .
Acting like he's a Rohring Franciscan Friar,
Pffft).
Not up there
Not . . .
. . . Down Here
(while Avey Tares down-on-the-upside of
The rhythm's lair.
One of Mary's Land's finest
Steiner-'dorf prime kids).
Not everywhere,
nor nowhere.
Not with the Kats, or
With Winged-Rat Bats.
Neither hither nor thither.
THIS IS A ZITHER!
(Damn, take your prescripted
Solution from Dr. Seuss).
With a moose.With a loose-caboose,
Yeah,
Give it down low & you'll Gnow
What the Doctor already told, &
Discussed what a Sneetch
Must bleach,
To be rid of such stars &
Treat each Sneetch as
A Sacred Cell-in-a
Body of Lord
Krishna Kornella,
Whose fish is
A dish that can
Multiply to divide small-thoughts,
That rot, how they rot
and remember when
We tossed the plot?
You already Gnew.
Damn now I'm lost?!?
Ha-Ha gotch-you -
But wait folks there's more,
More Logos-salad needs tossed with
The Fork of Finding.
Yeah,
Sneetches love The Teaches
Of Peaches
And Pears, with such care,
On a boat-in-a-moat:
Your ovum goes green
Sick-at-Sea . . .
Sea? Thought you said a moat. . .
Ah, the Good Doctor I give
An ocean of praise,
And a sacrificial goat.
But no need for blood,
Of the goat I just wrote,
Rather,
Let The "ink" make you think. . .
Yeah,
Pay some attention
(it's free! it's a bargain!)
To what falls out of Doc & Dwayne &
Curts & Chrises &
Bobby Dill & Billy Blake &
Maybe
Even Broozer's
Busted-Brains.
Let's ask the inflected Mushroom whose
Cerebrum's Most Sane:
"Dime todo lo que paso -
No me di cuenta ni quien me pego.
Todo da vueltas como un carrusel;
Locura recorre todita mi piel."
Now:
Wach mich auf!
Before I change again,
(Voy perdiendo-ala-panique-de-
I've got perfect change if,
Baby,
You'll place me
En the Proper Pen
(a big-boi's cradle)
And I'll keep giving my damnedest
To keep my Mightier than
(the measly-macho-born-machete)
The Pen-Perfect-10!
Wake me up
Before I
Perfectly change
Such Penultimate actions to
Keep full your cup,
Yeah,
Wake me up,
(before I change you)
make me happy,
(into)
Wake me up, make it right:Wake me up and give me a reason. . .
A reason to feel, yeah. . .
Don’t Panic! "Sir" Panic:
Cease & desist such charade
You call "The Manic-Panic" oerrrr:
"Maniac Paglian-Machismo Painiac."
Your Panic’s your Shadow don’t chase it.
Stop calling it Names.
Don’t fight it, don’t chase it. . .
Just. . .
Ab-
Sorbere. . .
Like Cygnus Rex-Unus,
Suck it in -
You can win!
Absorb like your Uranian Uterine
Twin’s brains...
Uh, no, not that trigger -
My Words get the better of me
Much quicker,
Ahhhh:
It would have been,
Might have been,
Could have been:
2-11
Two elevens!
11:11
Not just one ...
Two isn’t the loneliest,
Since one one : one one
Isn’t won.
Loss be your boss now,
Yay -
Neo-Saint John said:
"I can't be lost -
I've learned everything from loss."
On your lifetime across.
Ah wait just a second, ah -
I lost her, oh, In just one second.
Lost her to the blood & the bear no
Wait just
For a minute. . .
There,
There.
That's where:
I lost myself,
yeah,
For an hour now I’ve lost myself.
Wait
For a day I lost myself,
For a week,
for a moonth
I lossssssst my seellllllllllfff...
Now (is the moment when's we're within)"
For 6 & 30 dirty-down-n'-yup years
I lost. . . my. . . "SELF" -
Hey - when it's not quite
Actualized you gotta keep
Taking it down from the shelf. . .
Can't see it on the shelf?
Give it away,
Give it away,
Give it away
(like Neo-Saint AnThonee')
Again to some
Ghost-hungry whelp?
Welp -
Catch you some Catfish
That might swim deep,
but they're desperate & cheap
And the meat will keep you You _____
And keep me Me Pete.
I don't mean take advantage
of desperation,
Despair is the sickness
That bridges to death,
Oh! Give Grace to the desperate Soul.
I mean the imperative find meaning
In living & giving -
Making The Meaning,
Yeah,
Trying to Stay Alive,
Yeah,
Connect with a sad-sorry Catfish &
Ya'll stay Alive.
(The meat's just an "alogy"
Of the reward of connecting
Logos-y-Logos. . .
Come on! come come on!
The Now,
This Moment within & inside
My Jive.
"Ah - excuse me!
The jury is addressing Sir Panic,
And in question of why such Shadow
Shouldn't be smothered,
Unless you'll get to absorbing,
Herr Broozer,
And quit yacking this "ink...."
Ain't you a-postabee
Takin' it E to the Z?
Swallow your gabapentins,
Finish the poem.
(Kill of the ego,
Starve Now! such Panic.)
Take your Pee-Kay-Dickian novels with
Ye to the hammock."
Wellllll, Peer here, Now:
Lay-Deez and Germz of
This astoundingly spontaneous
Logos-born jury....
Here's how it went down
With the drunk ol,'
Ignorant, hungry-ghost who is
Panic's delusion-pampered-alias:
Aquario Wile-to-Be eL. Coyocoate
(presented in a most REE-al
Sty-al of
Self-interrogating,
Plaintiff-cum-Defendent
Fever-of-the-P.T.S."Dtotal" Recall
Ever-desiring-for-the-
I see what I see
With my two skull-sunken
Iris-Pupil centered spheres
Yeah,
I'm Alive and I see me:
I'm Schwifted past 3 Sheets &
Possibly / Maybe /
Hard to Say or see when
2000 Microslammed
Squares keep a
GRidZ-locked, euphoric
Loss (as stated earlier, my Boss),
Of Space, Time -
Whose it what and what
Isn't Mine.
The place to cut, slice, & consume
That, which when roasted makes Prime -
Yeah, well -
I can see:
2 Ribeyes,
Flipped in the grease,
Don't spawn a Rib-3rd-Eye,
Yeah,
(Notice: Arabic-numerals for the meat)
Let me repeat, just let me
"Re: Pete:
Trying to kill Panic, now get back to
The cheese."
Nah Peer,
It wasn't cheese -
Nah,
Just potatoes & grease . . .
Yeah,
Burnt spudz beside meat &
Two black-eyes
Don't birth a Black Third-Eye
(Notice: numerical-spelled-out-alphabetically for The Peeps)
So get in the truck,
Lose your shoes, lose your soul,
Chill out, kill the Panic -
(All I Gnow I've learned from Loss!)
Be you please, yeah,
Just be Me.
Pete to the Brewer,
Damn -
Losing your new running shoes. . .
I despise you, Panic. I'm beside myself &
You, you so blackedOut
Such Man-Ick, ugh -
Bring me back that alchemical Brewer
Yeah,
Bring-it-back, gonna bring-it-back
In Tact:
That Saintly psychonaut
Who'd never cut beef to make "beef" &
Such Wicked is
That-of-Thee-Accuser's-Heat.
With his fellow
Krishna-Celled,
Fungus-Funky,
Love-Capable peeps. . .
"The Jury's aghast at why belligerent
Panic could infect, enrapture, and
Lift-the-Pan-doorian-Lid
To release such sans-sanity!
We, The Jury, have listed the treasons
Wrought against each Love,
Yes each Love, see:
Anglish is well-sculpted
When Philled-Out, Lewised, & Tolkiened,
Yet gibberish when to "love" so loosly defined...
What do We, The Jury, surmise?
Nayyyy -
Grab the Wordsmith's protractor &
With real-eyes We realize:
The Angles' weak to show affection
For such powerful nomen ("Love, luff, luv," ehh?).
First Saint John says "God is Love..."
But We, The Jury, do enlighten
That Love is
Seven-Separate-yet-united-
Senses-to-such-great-
Avatars of attraction, care, & compassion -
Koined at a High-Point in
The Breaking-Wave of civil-I-zation.
It's Greek to you, It's Greek to me -
But read, ye, then Gnow and you'll see.
Such splendid is Love-in-The-Seven,
And the jury is aware of how trite it is to
Rhyme the latter with
The Ladder-to-Heaven.
Now Panic!
Here are the reasons
Reviewed and upon this
Digital-"ink" as Peer's digits do construe,
To Convict ye, so you're Gnowing,
With 7 bashed-heart treasons
(Absorb them, then turn thy's 'self' in -
The Peer must be getting to Beyond-'you'&
'good'&'evil'&
Be Growing):
*1*
You've lost Eros' trust
(may this be your last-lesson from Loss,
Yay, Now: ye relent of Entropy's tragic fuss)
By breaching the
Sense of safety inside her abode &
Too drunk-tuh-keep-it-up ain't
What up (literally), ye
Whiskey-Riched, path-etic,
Can't even come-as-you-are, errrr,
As you were!
In A-Sacred-Abyss, so
Then
Be not So-Wailing-Coyote or
She bans thee from Eros,
Ye such blacktoud-banshee-howling-
Soon to be bloody & terrose,
(too late). . .
but
Now
Be more So-Bear and
Your coats won't get cut &
*2*
You screamed self-righteous,
Pitiful, ethanol-fueled defenses
Against Philia while swinging
The high-steaks action of
That which to Philia is ever forbade:
An unfornunatley literal blade &
*3*
You left Ludus out to dry,
forgot that we're all just
Children-at-Play
On this Globular Stage,
Yeah,
You might Be Alive but
Panic lost Ludus &
Without that kind-of-love
(none better than others),
The girls give you black-eyes,
Yay but
Nay, more colors arise
(beauty amidst Birth-of-Tragedy)
When the feminine enraged,
Without Ludus gave
Ye one black &
One blued-purple eye.
Yet you puppets-of-meat
Are just too-high-to-die! &
*4*
Storge never stood a chance to
Be sowed & see such seed
Blossom while it grows. . .
Storge needs a clean stage -
No madness, no carnage, no chaos -
Don't Panic!
May the grace of Kosmic Storge
Find you awhile
During, or soon-after this trial &
*5*
Where did you lose Philautia?
Did you despair at disconnection
When your family felt so far away?
When did you FIRST forget Philautia?
Reach deep to the prenatal memory. . .
Ah, some sort of guilt as
The Alive of Two-Twins. . .
Some kind of sadness when
The leftover blood left
The formerly cozy, uterine cabin. . .
And now - now you beg a beloved Amor,
To help you clean up but
Without Philautia,
You're attempting to find-the-future,
With crumbling Foundation &
A fallen Empire of yesteryear's hurt &
A cracked, empty, begging cup. . .
Begging you to remember Philautia,
Even if you never-really-Gnew her.
That, well - she reaps
What you sow, so
Self-Care neccesitio,
If The Soul-Seeds you Will-to-See-Grown
(It's better than power, Father Friedrich, we wish you had Gnown).
Furthermore,
*6*
Pragma goes where
The Clean & Healthy cells
of Krishna's Body row.
You'll never know her until
It's your boat's turn
To point the bow
The way of Arjuna's Gandiva-Bow
(Ah Yeezy, we can,
Yeah?
Go bow-to-the-Bow).
Bury your panic,
(A bed 4-feet deep, here, "Sir" Panic!)
Fill sails with the
Steady wind of The Former,
Now Love's fully grown. . .
Finally,
*7*
How can you join with every
Atman so
Alive?
As sings a Live:
'. . . Your boat is at sea -
Your anchor is up,
You've been swept-away -
And the Greatest of Teachers
Won't hesitate,
To leave you there, by yourself,
Chained to Fate."
To redeem, 7th-Circle-stuck-Peer -
Cast away the painful
Chain-of-Panic,
And unite in the sea of
Brahma's blood -
A-Kay-Yay:
Agape!
As the deepest part of
The Heart yearns for
Each soul to dive in such
Sea of
Smiley, unified bliss -
When you allow
The Conscious brain to
Black-Owwwwt:
Therein festers fear, hurt, disconnection &
If you keep it up you'll be
Cut from the vine...no joke:
Brushed off & forgotten -
Brain too bludgeoned with
Ancient, regression-rendering,
Carelessly-binged wine.
(That's Sangre-de-Krishto!
Show some respect for
The Son's Blood & Crown).
Gnarly-barley
'till you drown -
Then let in some filthy
Kratomethoxetamined, caffiend, & alkuhled
Speedballz like
Your methodology of a-nihil-ation,
Is passed down from Chris Farley.
Damn, man - just microdose,
Lay off The Hard & The Hurt -
Breathe some kind herb -
Breathe,
Breath in the air,
Like a
One Love / One Light / Ena-Agape
Seeking Rasta-Marley.
The Jury rests his case
On the rocks thrown at
The Loves, &
Will now
Hear how 'Sir' Panic,
Post-Calamity,
Kept up the pace..."
Well, first upon waking it wasn't
Immediate Fight-or-Flight. . .
Yet... attempting to fix
Misunderstanding,
Doubt, & fear
With Accusation & more beer -
Drowning, drowning
My poor, innocent,
Owlsey-born Lysergia.
Drowning her with
Eugene's gene's thirsty
Firebottle anesthesia....
50 blue-ribboned cans,
a liter "Siberian-water-of-life,"
a 5th sabotaged & wasted Anejo
(Now I'm alchemizing tuh-kill-ya's strife),
a 5th syrup-stirred Rumpled Stiltscan't...
Now get a handle on Svedishka -
Ah, stop - stop the drowning. . .
Panic, you dick. . . how many Pub Beers
Until you give up this posion-bitch?
How many olives do you dirty up
The martini that finally cuts your spine,
Slice your windpipe, now
Sunken forever
(I hear it's just as long as infinity & Eternity),
Yeah,
Capsized from Christna's Eternal Vine,
Yeah.
You gotta save me,
My dear sweet Peer!
"Follow me into the desert
Thirsty as you are,
Crack a smile,
cut your lips and
Drown in...,"
No! You can't entropete me
Finding-the-future -
Not even you, never-been-dead
Yet pretty-noosed dangling Chris. . .
I'm keeping you alive,
yeah,
I'm your Peer &
Wait -
Did you, Peer-the-peer,
Make Sir Panic a companion 'cuz
The Twin-Shaped Hole in your
Soul caused some
Identity divide?!?
Couldn't care-for-yourself first,
When The Other, absorbed in ye
Seemed to die...
So made a Second to allow
Your peace - Deny?
Right-in-Two,
Monkey see, Monkey Do -
One-to-against,
I should have Gnew. . .
Jah bless the day where my nephews survive, yeah -
Jah bless this Year Zero:
Here we
Hydrate in our welcomed
Aquarial, paradigm-shipped-by-The-Wave hero.
Here we
Strive to teach the youth, baby, &
Stay Alive!
Move forward
Humbled by humble-nature,
So we and Wyclef can meet
The D'yer-Make'Her,
Yeah,
And Thrive on our
Bumpin'-bass-line-keen-
"Stayin' Aliiiiiiivvvvvve."
Ahh, Panic:
Now running around town
With a saw-toothed bushwhacker.
Whatcha doing huh?
Playing a game of "Intimidate to Intimate,"
Huh?
...Like some neo-Viking desert-cracker.
You can plead the COVID-19-Card but,
When in Utah,
You gotta be COVID-21 to drink. . .
Take a shower, shine your shoes, shave off that stink.
Gonna butcher your inner-Bukowksi?
Well now the steaks are up & gone &
The card is COVID-33 when you get A-Cross and
Wish you had the Prometheus to think:
"In a week my dear Peer descends to Dante's 7th Circle.
It's my fault - I'm brashly Colored-Red now,
But he'll go blue with eye's purple.
I make my livin' off killin' his self,
And he's gotta try to make a killin' off
Keeping his health..."
No Yahshua Joshin' here, Panic,
It's not nice
When you tease The Cross &
Put your Peer in The Ice.
Trying to hunt the Hunter in you?
Hunter and Kurt,
With two-smoking-barrels tried,
Yeah,
But they don’t die...
Their spirits possess
Willing vessels with lyric & prose.
Death's not an end but a bridge
(Ask Zoroaster).
You'll know when you Gnows.
Quit bending the benders. . .
You can’t mend her she’s
Been sucked into you,
In the prenatal younion.
Now
How
Abowt
Quit mending the benders,
Quit
Birthing the benders!
Never
Chase a shadow now,
Never chase It,
Peter Panic just ...
Absorb...
...and accept.
Your Actualized-Self is gonna
Be the best you’ve ever met...
2021?
Or maybe:
Year Zero. . .
Yeah,
When the stakes are this high
I'll drop my cards,
Restart "time,"
Bet.
"The Jury is satisfied! that
Peer will let Panic die.
'Don't Panic!' my friends,
Or we'll never find-the-future
Alive,
Yeah, so Alive!"
*******
All ye absorbers,
Grunge enactors,
Displaced friends,
Wunder Women
and Supermans. . .
All aboard The Scalawagon.
Wanna go for a ride?
We'll get closer to God.
Closer all the time,
yeah,
Muggle-struggle by struggling Muggles,
And rhyme by rhyme.
Let’s shoot for the moon today
And tomorrow dive into darkstars. . .
Take an eon to dance at the horizon's event,
Or,
Was it The Event's horizon?
Crash it - ah ..
Surly but Snowly Crash a darkstar's glitch &
Come out on the other side.
After that ride -
Crash into you and me and she and he and ze too. . .
Closer to God. . .
And closer to You, the Beloved,
the Gnown, the True.
Let the light shine in,
Let the fright lay down.
Let the light shine in & glimmer
On your crooked, cracked, heavy crowns ...
Come on now,
Brightest eyes in the
Colored-Red-Oh!
Pow-Pow.
Fists in the air,
Defy while you’re weighting.
Gravity's an antagonizer -
Feeling grounded when you’re
Down from the cloud yeah,
Yeah -
Brighter than Cygnus Rex Unus is black,
Yeah,
Shining against The Delusion of
Linear Whack.
Oh ...
Down....
... down
Supermassive Downtown:
Where the
Tabs are infinite
And the hours are the clock
All&All-uuuhhh
Round.
Circ-It, grab your slice of Pi. . .
Panic's done.
I'm the Peer at your side.