fever dream space run… [oo]

fever dream space run… [oo]

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

if I could book a ship
a trip
to the moon
to the stars
no, beyond
to float
to soar
escape humanity
and the laws
time and gravity
the helix that binds
release me from these bonds
to soar
to seek
to feel the universe upon
my hands, my feet
yes, a road
a path
the guide of mind
downloads a map
a compass of consciousness
a mind
among the stars
and what I may find – there –
a realm of infinite possibility and life – my family.

Fear and Loathing in Blog Vegas…

Fear and Loathing in Blog Vegas…


blogging is a strange and wondrous thing, I like to sit back and reassess things from time to time, try and look through another looking glass as best I can guess, examine what my motivations are, the paths, the pushers, the markers, the maps, the blind stumbling into something in the night, in those corners I do see a pair of eyes, not red glowing ones like you might expect in some horror movie, more like intensely Mona Lisa eyes following my route, knowing it before I chart the very lines, as if steering me somehow and soaking in the satisfaction of pulling puppet strings, always there, staring intently with mal-intent, or maybe not, just being what nature made this creature to be, a role fulfilled, a perfect part in a Shakespearean play, who am I to judge, this has been around far longer than me anyway, the eyes you say? that spy? that sneak thief of the night? fear. Sometimes just a hint, ‘should I post this?’, ‘what will people think?’, ‘will anyone care at all about this?’ and the usual litany, I have to say most off these wash on by me down river, not that I am impervious to such doubt darts, but I didn’t start my blog for such things as clout or monetization (if you do, that’s fine, to each his own, no worries there), perhaps more of what bothers me at times is when I pour myself into something or feel that ultra bright hot inspiration strike, the feeling is so unique, a fire inside that gears the factory into the production of your creation, exhilaration, and then expectation that the rest of the world will see this brilliant shiny thing you just made, and it is met with virtual silence, or a comment generator looking to sell you viagra (I’m good for now, thanks), I am always amazed at what does catch fire as opposed to what I think should, I think about the prospect of re-posting some of my faves but never do, that was ‘that’ time I always tell myself, other people re-post sometimes like it is a new post, I can always tell as I have a near photographic memory when it comes to things I have read, but as always everyone is not me, hard to step into those other shoes unless you do the exercise to excise yourself from the time sometimes, and even then you are always a little biased toward yourself, I mean, how could you not be, we’re not robots as of yet.
I think the one ghost of any real substance hanging in the back-end of my closet would be a drought, the sudden realization I had nothing to write about, it seems absurd when I look at the sheer volume of my work, but those times when the words seem out of reach, hanging off a ledge by just my fingertips, the thoughts creep in like a cold wind under a usually stout door, and go right for my feet, sending that chill right up my prime meridian like an instant freezing spell, the doubt turns on itself, like sharks in a frenzy, muddling up the water, with blood and bits, a slaughter, a tornado does never seem to end when you are in the middle of one, but you must learn to let things settle, one breath at a time, time always moves on, just let the dust settle, things will become clear, but always those eyes, that fear, never truly retreats, you just have to accept the beast as part of your tapestry.

(irony: I wrote three other pieces when I wrote this and some I posted before this… I should learn to turn my internal thermostat better)

notes… hey, sometimes I have to flash my metal street cred (and decades of knowledge in the realm), the original fear factory album was insane killer but this remix EP was fierce, a great mix of metal and techno, and rhys (front line assembly) is just an unrecognized genius who never got his due like Trent Rez (NIN) has… my opinion, and heck, this is my blog so my opinion rules here…

thoughts… from the porch (my porch, or perch, or… whatever, free form thought, give it a spin, you might like it)…

thoughts… from the porch (my porch, or perch, or… whatever, free form thought, give it a spin, you might like it)…

abandoned grass light merry go round
Photo by Levi Damasceno on Pexels.com

in the distance I can hear children faintly playing, yells and screams evoke alarms inside instead of joy, in these abnormal times, my instincts, reactions, daily actions, all come into question now…
Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.
I wonder if a simple child’s rhyme will outline this stretch of death one day, that, of course will come after, not in the teeth of the pathogenic strife, I have always believed I was a patient person, certainly not a short fuse bomb waiting to happen, just when I do reach that limit I feel like I am up on the absolute edge of a cliff, no other side, no bottom, no turning around but leap… I picture that my candle was great and tall like a fortress castle wall, but burning down for so long now, my wick surely has not much longer to go, and the dawn, I am not a candle-maker, maybe I have to be, or learn to be, I do not know, or should I strive to deprive the flame of bright oxygen, I can not cap all the air, even if I tried my subconscious thoughts would betray and supply, a traitor I harbor inside.
This is much easier, today, sitting here on my porch, no mask (aside from the ones I always wear in that other life), no gloves, no one around to be socially distant from, I suppose Fear is taking a nap, he had a busy week with me back at my office, and certainly he plastered my inner walls with doubt, but all seems calm now, with a deep breath, I  exhale as much of the negative as I can muster, I envision my candle now, small flame flickering inside my sanctum, the wax of the worn melted drawn out onto the wooden table, the newborn pool of spent liquid wax reflecting a dancing twin, “slowly, slowly” I mantra, “this will all end” with a hope wrapped in a prayer

onward goes, this strangest spring, awaiting the salvation of normalcy to arrive into these harbors overflowed with a cargo of hope… and renewal.



agriculture backyard blur close up
Photo by Lukas on Pexels.com

tasked” 4/27/18

I paused

I stopped

to look around

I never noticed

-the sound

until now

at first a gentle scratching

scraping tapping

on the ground

I try to recall

when I was put to this task

a minute, some months

decades past?

I look up and about

from half ways down

try to estimate my position

and to what contract I am bound

to this


across the plotted fields

the very same sounds

a constant beat

against the ground

metal clinks

and again

same refrain

chanting thumping metal frames

penetrates and lifts a mound

metal, dirt, metal, dirt

always down

always down

notes…  I sort of was thinking of the Matrix scene where Neo is “reborn” and also the “fields”… a great metaphor for life, so I imagined that we are all just on this endless plain digging our own graves… because, in a sense, we are, we are all traveling in that way, I am not saying I like it, but it is the truth, which makes me understand suicide more from a rational sense but it is something I could never do… even though honestly, logically the equation is the same… can you really argue that ?  the only thing I can champion is maybe just maybe instead of suicide there is creation- of art, of life, of cures of disease, of inspiration of invention, of children… because the human experience tells me.. things are possible, the impossible is possible, death will never be cheated or defeated (everything has an end), but the fight… remember the fight and try to win even when you know you will not. that is the hope of humanity, at least that is what keeps me going, and my hope to inspire.  I am just a man but I want to be more. the question is… do you ?

Musical choice ?  I will not pull punches.. I think Anna Murphy is the goddamn balls…

Cellar Darling “Black Moon”

She is of course originally from the band eluveitie, and if you have to ask she is playing a Hurdy Gurdy… yeah, totally obscure mechanical violin instrument from the middle ages



cold dark eerie fear
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late” 4/24/18

a triangle of ravens

portends in the rain

is this dusk

or looming gray

no sun to foretell

still spring has yet to slip into bloom

the bare trees do agree

that spring has not yet arrived

this, where doubt creeps in

knowing season into season

passes with regularity

why do I fear?

bravery” 4/24/18

why do we fear anything at all

save for the one

that holds the key

to all we know


how brave of me

in this time of quiet

and not of need

notes… poem 1 (up there) I was driving home (as I am known to do) and there was this weird triangle of ravens flying over the GSP…  ravens don’t fly in formation, well, I haven’t asked them but from experience I think it so… also, spring was late, so as fluid as time is… we relate to what is our “now”… spring has been ‘late’ probably a billion times (and probably does not care what I think, dammit).  I was toying with how limited our experience is but we expect it to be “the norm” which is totally silly given our short lifespan compared to the machinations or more real the gears of nature that work beyond our scope (and could care less about us even being here), I was also commenting on how we panic when things kind of don’t work out like we think they should based on our experience.. such limited experience even after 40 years on this rock….

poem 2… it is easy to say I am not afraid… but we all are. it is easy to say all I fear is death… but we all fear plenty of things, we all forget, we drive, take showers, go on vacation, have kids (well, none that I know about…), etc… it is much harder to actually let go of fear in times when the real pressure of actual life is applied.  I am trying to live life free of fear, to live moment to moment.. to trust my instincts… but honestly I am not doing the greatest job of it.  People can’t believe some of the things that come out of my mouth but really I am not being me 100% and I should because this is the only life we get as far as I know… and that is all I know, my limited little brain, as smart as I think I may be… death has taken us all from Einstein to Hitler, so I want to be free…

totally random music…  this is a mix of cuban/puertorican/island (with brass instruments) music with metal… one of the most unique bands that ever was… I love mixed up mutts like this…

Puya “Fundamental”

fallen angels.

fallen angels.

statue angel cemetery
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fallen” 6.14.18

so I know how they felt

the angels that fell

eternal cries

of pain

separated from your love



cast into a dessert fire

sweltering heat

never ending sun

my skin boils

cooked to the bone

but this –

surface agony

compared to the realization

is nothing

the separation

the fall

for all eternity

Notes… I’m not religious (and hold no ire for those who are, more on that some other time as I have a bunch to unload on that topic) but you would have to admit (if you love a good story) that the bible certainly has some great writing in parts (other parts of the bible are just instructional and clearly written by clergy with a mission imo… I’m talking the sodom and gomorrah type of stuff here people!).

Specifically in this case, I love the play of free will vs. obedience to god… sort of a conundrum (if you have free will… won’t god know your choices anyway etc?), but also the fall… knowing you made the wrong choice and now you are confined to hell (figuratively) due to your own actions.  Now I am not claiming to be lucifer (the rebel leader)… more or less a lesser angel without that much pride to take on the big honcho in the sky but caught up in the moment… these are all the ingredients baking the cake in my head on this one… not sure if I conveyed it all in the poem, hey, I’m just a guy with a blog, cut me some slack jack.

Tunes… time for some blues, I got those lost woman blues, the I ruined the greatest thing I will ever know blues, I didn’t lose her – I screwed it up, so all I have now is me and my guitar.  Gary Moore “There’s a Hole”



grayscale photography of man sitting beside wall

“I am, Ruins” 7.18.18

can you forgive me?
can I forgive myself?


the guilt
like a captor
a cage
becomes familiar
a house
with common walls
closing in
blinds the view
no windows
no doors
huddled in the corner
struggling against the bindings of my guilt
under the weight of stone
tattered clothing
barely covers
broken form
cold wood boards
floor creaking

the key-
to forgive
out of reach
beyond my sight
I can not see,
my mouth, my mouth pantomimes
Help… Help… Help…
(and softer…)
…help –
until a whisper
then just a murmur
quakes across trembled lip
a single tear forms
and draws
like a blade that strikes out against the world
(help)… (help)… help me, please… please…


No cute notes or music on this one.. I think I will let it stand for itself. -dmk



abstract art astronomy background
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eons” 4/29/18

I have no want of death

I do not wait for death

yet, the flicker of humanity

will extinguish

and the planet may pause

spinning eons by

carrying some other passengers

until the sun

burns out a billion years

the milky way

one star less bright

one less spark

against the canvas

of absolute night

who might notice

who will bear witness

no sky to look upon and ask why

death will have stolen all

from this little corner

of the universe

I actually wrote something about 9/11 today (in my car reciting it to myself until I arrived at work and feverishly scribbled it down)… but it is something I actually want to work on due to the nature of the moment (very not me, I know, you know if you read anything I write that I am usually just in the moment of now)… Every day I drive a certain section of the NJ Turnpike (geez, what an arcane term) and a hill crests where you can see NYC like a postcard (over that abomination of a train station)…. thousands of cars, we all pass this every day vision in the distance, so close you can almost touch it, I wonder how many pause and are struck by inspiration, surely not the A-hole in the Infiniti all over my bumper… I used to have road rage but now I smile more, because where the hell are we all going ? really?  plus I have great tunes on my USB stick….

So I posted the above because I am determined to post everything I write for the most part… good or bad, this is not about me showcasing my best stuff.. this is me unloading on the universe that which I am driven to create, and share.  I do not claim to understand how this works, if it works… or anything… if I can touch one life I suppose it is all worth it, even if that life is just mine.. maybe I am a fisherman throwing out my line into the ether… for another her… a companion or just friendship…  I’m not so sure about anything anymore, the more mistakes you make in life the less you trust yourself, but you are better at hiding it… so much better…

Take the dive…

Take the dive…

mountain by the sea
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Acapulco” 5/4/18

I will dive

from barren cliffs

into the sea

to feel the depths

envelop me

without a witness

to the fall

the tide sings

a familiar song

nothing at all

nothing at all

no one at all.

This was inspired by (somewhat) the famous cliff divers of Acapulco in Mexico. They used to be on TV a bunch on ABC’s world wide of sports (dating myself, but that is OK, experience is a good thing).

Some thoughts…. Firstly I am afraid of heights.. so I would never do this in a million years or for a million bucks (besides you really do NOT want to see me in a speedo – and no, that is not me in case you are asking, thankfully I am not that hairy).  Secondly there is the idea (well, fact) that if you do not time your dive jump correctly you go splat (not so nice).  Thirdly I just liked this one when I wrote it (not a single edit, it came out of me just as it is written above, first take)… I think (I don’t want to assume) that most people reading this are fellow travelers in the arts (hello fellow practitioners of words!) or of the creative realms… and whether we would like to admit it or not we have favorite children, for whatever reason, there is that spark that blinds us and makes us proud in the same light (inspiration)… so this is one of those, for better or worse I just enjoyed writing this one… satisfaction.

So, sometimes I am lazy…um, I mean topical !  So here is some cool music to read my blog by.. Tycho “Dive”, if this doesn’t make you groove, check your pulse… open your mind to the electronic divine… this tune sold me on Tycho (not Tyketto… totally a Jersey thing…), if you get a chance go see him live, he tours often

On the porch observing…

On the porch observing…

ocean waves hammering rock boulder
Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

I have been battling a sinus infection for some days… wrapped up in my room, like a tomb just trying to get back to myself.  Sinus infections are like migraines inside your face, you can literally touch the pain and push it around inside the spaces behind and around the eyes.  Not complaining, just explaining.  Just something I deal with… people have it much worse than me… although I must admit I am waiting for the day when lack of breath will kill me.. it almost did a few times when I was a teen, asthma attacks where they had to jack me full of adrenaline…. where I was pacing about for 2 days unable to sleep.  I have nightmares of drowning and it is odd always knowing what most likely will be my ultimate end… lack of breath.

I wrote these today out on the porch, in conjunction.  In fact I wrote the second poem in the middle of the first and then finished the first.  The older couple interrupted my mojo but then inspired it… life is indeed strange these days, I hope it remains that way.

coming of the rain” 7.4.2018

among all this bounty

how can I feel such sorrow

so hollow;

the coming of the rain

far off rumbling

tremors in the air

the birds feel cautious

quiet, huddling

not the usual songs of summer

perhaps it is the fireworks

non rhythmic throngs

of bursts of bombs

leaves, here and there, begin to twitch

singular drops

seem to have met their marks

as my country celebrates

I sit here


for the coming of the rain


an older couple walking down the street

speaking in a foreign language

(russian I think)

they seem content

as much as body language presents

their forms

reflections on the side of my car

as they pass

in conversation

might I know their story

and be distracted from my own

DMK Note… I used the term “older couple” on purpose… I had to help my father do something the other day and he remarked that the client we were meeting is a strange young guy.  That guy had to be at least 20 years my elder… so I wanted to have the reader of this poem use their own idea of “older”… it is so relative, I will not reveal how old the couple walking actually was, it does not matter.