Supermassive Down-Low, Keeping It Up-On-The-Top of The Jive-Alive Side

 "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;

So now narrates The Memory's Brain:

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.

Might-uhhh mentioned 

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-fears 

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-Pedro. . . )

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:

(the shedding shards of a sadded-shadow)
Wake me up and give me a reason. . . 

(Instead of what you are when you're so Alive!)
A reason to feel, yeah. . . 

Just:

TO FEEL....

....allllllriiiiiightttttt. 

(I'll burp the words and you birth the wheels - 

It takes dose to tango and keep this All&All Real).

********

 

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-dtramadik-hurry):

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-Heightens

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-horror,
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-BeeGeed-screamed:

"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.