Gutenberg’s Dilemma

I used to draw pictures of eyeballs
upon every wall of the house.
They were mostly human,
but sometimes other animals
made the wall;
a goat, a panda, a snake.

I used them
as a reminder
that I might only exist
within the gaze of others.

Sometime in middle adulthood,
I began to draw the eyes
with their eyelids closed,
daring my sense of self
to evaporate accordingly.

It wasn’t until years later,
after examining the eyes
with the eyes of an old man,
that I realized how much time had passed
and how hard it is
to accurately capture anything
with one’s eyes closed.

Understandably,
my self grew weary of its story
without others’ input
and so I began experimenting
with mirrors and diaries.

Soon, my notes
grew to become a book.
I divided the chapters
by reflected body part: Ear, Shoulder, Heel, Wrist.

After finishing the book,
I used it to recreate myself
from prior words and illustrations.

Now, here we are,
reading myself into being.

I will be sure
to credit you
in the Acknowledgments.

Gutenberg’s Dilemma

Herculaneum

when you watch the sun blot out,
you lose yourself to stone*
and dirt
and bone
and hurt.

you lose yourself to the mirror
that shows you aren’t the hero,
that shows you without powers
or skills or knowledge
to save your people
from extinction.

your people need the sun,
the light,
the sky,
their people.

your people,
our people,
we watch the sun disappear
without a proper goodbye,
all together,
huddled,
a.d .lo.e
……………..
……………………….
……………………..
………………
…………………………..
………………..
…………………

*hat tip to https://theweesmirk.wordpress.com/2020/09/18/pompeii/ for this couplet as a prompt

Herculaneum

Weeping While Melting

This is the way romance engulfs:
with air that tastes like burning
and eyes that penetrate like
long-buried memories of forgotten,
backseat lovers.

This is why we have moral majorities.

I never said, “I can’t do this.”

Still, you glared at me for an eternity
and when you blinked,
I shifted shapes:
a man,
a child,
a silent forest,
a flower with no petals.

I blinked away
from in front of you
into your mind
where you could be
somewhat left alone with your thoughts.

“I love you,”
you whispered to yourself.
“I always will.”

You once told me what would happen when the end arrived.
You told me the gulls would fly backwards
and the moon would split into separate, but equal, parts.

Still, we danced.
We laughed.
We approched every apocalypse
as trained eschatologists.

Now, in the deep recesses
of your fractured memories,
I still sit surprised
by how warmly you welcomed
those frightening flames.

Weeping While Melting

Q is a Nazi Cult, Rebranded

QAnon is a Nazi Cult, Rebranded

A secret cabal is taking over the world. They kidnap children, slaughter, and eat them to gain power from their blood. They control high positions in government, banks, international finance, the news media, and the church. They want to disarm the police. They promote homosexuality and pedophilia. They plan to mongrelize the white race so it will lose its essential power.

Does this conspiracy theory sound familiar? It is. The same narrative has been repackaged by QAnon.

I have studied and worked to prevent genocide for forty years. Genocide Watch and the Alliance Against Genocide, the first international anti-genocide coalition, see such hate-filled conspiracy theories as early warning signs of deadly genocidal violence.

The plot, described above, was the conspiracy “revealed” in the most influential anti-Jewish pamphlet of all time. It was called The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. It was written by Russian anti-Jewish propagandists around 1902. It collected myths about a Jewish plot to take over the world that had existed for hundreds of years. Central to its mythology was the Blood Libel, which claimed that Jews kidnapped and slaughtered Christian children and drained their blood to mix in the dough for matzos consumed on Jewish holidays.

In related news regarding the erosion of critical thinking:

https://time.com/5887437/conspiracy-theories-2020-election/

Q is a Nazi Cult, Rebranded

This is Your Fear On Drugs. Any Questions?

the hair
on fire
again

the hair
and the pants
and the hills
and the heart

it was all so confusing,
but at least we knew that
they weren’t in their real bodies

everything aflame
everything apain
everything thus named

shot in the back
fire fire
burning burning
the heart
the fire

voice of forced concern
“We don’t want to hurt you.”

the warm right
the caring
fire fire

“We’re afraid.”
“We’ve never seen this before.”
“We can’t imagine
anything will hurt you.”

the warm right
such concern
for some life
for some hearts
     so warm within
some chests
fire fire fire

the elite
call the elite
elite
the plebians call for
fire fire fire fire
pain

“Just relax,” they say,
“You don’t have to do this today.
You can go back to sleep, if you want.”

the warm right
the caring
the fire
the fire
always the fire
always the flame

This is Your Fear On Drugs. Any Questions?

My Burly Lifelike, Go!

oh, how she screams into the void.
oh, how she screams while we sit underneath,
enraptured and frightened,
entrapped by the spittle that flys from her mouth,

perhaps the fervor is contagious as well as holy?

how can i help it if i feel something?

i know now what this is
and what it means to me.

this is safety and surety and sanctity and sanity and surely strength and hammering fists in this world’s face will someday soon…

you must find your sister and tell her everything.

tell her you have heard
the good news being spread
from behind the podium.

tell your sister this is the news for her
and her daughters, too.
tell her this is every person’s news.
every person’s place is to
await the savior
under a full, red sun.

tell your sister that you love her.
tell her that
to disregard the news
is to disavow
her self.

show her.
show her the news.
let your sister and your mother, too,
come under the spell of righteous tyranny
spoken from a mandate
of wanton disregard for the unlike.

tell her all the promises made
and all the promises kept.

tell her about remaking the world in your image.

be caught up in the fire.
the parade won’t wait.

My Burly Lifelike, Go!