THE HAUNT
Con/Jur/d, 4/8/2026
“sometimes think you purposely throw in a few lines here and there to confuse” Colm

The professor, the one who married his best grad
       their university perambulations were scored
                               with whispers
chose a judasgoat-student, to begin intro to post-modernism
the ask: What is your middlename? [        ] WRONG!
              it’s CONFUSION It's where we start
                     (we see it as a scale of armor
                            lost in the daily noble grind
                                 lets the spirits of your enculturated armor       out)
or the TRUTH, what da
      buddhists in english 
                       call delusion
      

sometimes, on a cloudy morning
in San Francisco, (saw it in Buffalo
once too with an opium/hash pipe at 5 AM, at piny/wet docks 
near Kenai cannery before the sliming began, once by steam 
from a fresh cup of cheap coffee with a clove cigarettee
outside the youth hostel in the converted army base
By the marshy briny beach 
in Heidelberg, but was too young to know 
if it was by spirit of plant or place) if you blew tobacco smoke
toward the Brugmansia, standing before first the concrete 
    step by
           the invasive English Ivy covering
                  wall/fence to the right (a rental
                     for  hopeful newcomers
                         trying to make it -- in the SANCTUARY CITY
                FOR THE RICH as the graffiti on the sidewalk
                                  near FOLSOM and SIXTH whispers its 
              perambulators only message)
     on the left were the metal chairs (too
cold/damp to sit) and the fresh americanspirit
if we were flush, or a hand roll if we were
skint, thick, first thing resinous, the tarry
reboot to peaceful reflection, operational
certainty, before the days events convinced
you the entire world was rushing/rushing
           madly/blindly/stupidly
          :toward:toward:toward: BLOODY utopia
              (The stone Xochipilli living on the concrete
                running beneath the first floor, library          
                sitting room, between the little backyard
                lot, Honeysuckle and wooden stairs, once
                      OUT OF HIS BLIND HOLLOW EYES
                     while juggling the phen-ethyl-amine rings 
-10 mg-
                of  4-bromo-2,5-dimethoxyphenethylamine
                explained Maslow’s pyramid was the same
                pyramid with rivers of blood, in his day, when
                  THE IDIOT PRIESTS got literal
                hierarchies, are fodder for gods never arriving
                      STONED (any god worth paying attention to
                        is already here))
worth REMEMBERING 
          even out of state with the gentle tobacco spirit
                                                                HAPPINESS
                       only starts, continues or ends
                        HERE, at this moment, 
                                  IT MOVES WITH YOU
                        wherever you GO
             

smoke/ spirit detector 
         
would outline a GHOST
           a form not of faces, fingers, tentacles or   
                 batwings or mushroom clouds
                  although, those can happen too, 
                  MEMORIES in gestalt
                  as real as we’re real
  
seemingly solid
     They can blind us / bind us
      to the orange cat who 
       twined about our feet
     of the promise of coffee brewing, mostly to 
       the SILENT something, we pretend is
     NOTHING, because its beauty will crush us

    THERE! THERE! 
               
                    You can see it there! If you let
                     confusion wash over you, abandon
                      meaning as a transient betrayer
                      THERE  outlined in memories
                      of mixed solids and gases, a lazy 
                      manifestation of breath
                 
IN/                                                 / NOW/                       /OUT

Did you see it?

The terms of your day, night, life
Con/Jur/d, 4/6/2026

“The following … offers a brief meditation on 
the concept of the score as a condition of possibility 
(a necessary condition) for an intermedial work to exist.”
Hanna B. Hölling, from Unpacking the Score: 
Notes on the Material Legacy of Intermediality
Issue 51: ONCURATING: https://www.on-curating.org/issue-51-reader/unpacking-the-score-notes-on-the-material-legacy-of-intermediality.html retrieved 4/6/2026 


HEY YOU! we call out, CAN WE GET A SCORE?  

HEY DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?
WHY NOW? WHY ME? DID WE ASK FOR THIS
INTRUSION?

(seeing we successfully dodged the thrown shoes)

HOLD ON! 

-- sound of rummaging from the open window
it’s about 3 am, and we had run 
out of cocaine, and were trying to reboot
the temporarily deadened synapsis, above
below the dark/dark wooden eaves come
comic sounds of a single bark, a single meow
and a single elephant trumpet interspersed and
punctuating what could have been a broken clock
performance of 4′33, crickets, distant cars and
a chorus of WHOOP WHOOP substituting for
the unpacked instruments, while out of the window’s maw
drawers being forcefully opened/closed, with a faere
tinkling of broken glass, the head reappears
partially covered in discarded unisex undergarments
holding a scroll like page, you know with certainty
is vellum, although you have no idea what vellum
is or may be

HERE IS SOMETHING IF YOU WANT IT?!

We check each others bloodshots 
and knowing the bars in this hood
are soon closing, and the suspended 
late night awake but dream timing is about
to be interrupted by drunks and other 
acquaintances, we nod, to THE NARRATOR
(no one else wanted the role) to whom
we appear to be fish rolling in a preindustrial river
the streetlights glinting off our sweaty exposed
and metal studs, assorted earrings and buttons
with band names and pseudo anarchists slogans

OKAY!

{clears throat}

FROM NOW ON, (Dave groans, Todd shushes him)

A police car drives by, slows, sees who it is
and continues on, THE Narrator continues
at a normalized volume:

treat everything as a conversation, that started pre-
birth and will continue post death, for the rest
of your life, you will  always be walking in on
listening in on,  as if you are in the middle of,
THE REALITY MONOLOGUE, the I am
the first-person singular, knowing its reasons
were explained and codified long, long ago, before
your ancestors, Homo sapiens and Neanderthals
before dinosaurs, before fungi, before the whirling
of hydrocarbons and the pools, never be repeated
INSTRUCTIONLESS YOU MUST live your life
as the ongoing experiment it already is
(Mike the scientists gives a thumbs up)
just acknowledged, be honest about it folks…

REMEMBER 
you are the emptiness
through which this  stream of conscious
flows, the idea of a hypothesis or a story
that will make sense of this, give it meaning
does not exist, cannot exist
HOWEVER, this is conditional
on making new hypothesis, performing
the experiment, testing and gathering
the results, when you stop it all stops!

there is a rustling, and he shouts, GOOD?

We look at each other and you say,

WAIT! That isn’t poetry

The Narrator scoffs, looks back and forth
across our collected heads, the milling
of bodies, improbably, arranged outside 
THE WINDOW of a million possible
windows,  in the middle of the night
in a tar and garbage smelling urbanity,
before the distributed/digitized BRIGHT/BRIGHT 
lights, after, the switch from gas, 
in the lull between boss battles
pausing mass murder as a business strategy, 
and an actor as president was still a novelty
not a prerequisite and NARRATOR says, quietly
yet, we could hear in the silence within t
row houses canyon

What is these days?

SLAM

and with the shaking of glass, the sound of
drunken voices, echoes increasing in 
volume, someone calling our names?

we knew the score, and 
needed to play it.

Gentle, the spring rain falls past crackling ideation
Con/Jur/d, 4/5/2026

Pork cracklings are a wonderful diagnosis
to answer, your question, mostly we try, and try
and try to understand our Stockholm syndrome
the conditions for our release, what belongs
to us, what shards of culture slop, empire blood
has lodged itself in our body, a diagnosis for what

you may ask yourself,
                                   (we’re always hiding)
a new makeup for an old mask? How much
did we miss the birds, during winter doldrums
a mentor and a friend, once said

NO, dromology is the study of speed, not the


                           VIEW

from 10’000, feet -- Embarrassed, flushed to the core
we had looked it up, where? maybe, a dream
during glymphatic clearance, although 
with the garbage each of us has to process
a Sisyphean task, Camus labors, not the 
grecian justification for how slaves were treated

-- you think you got it bad? at least not forever

BACK TO WORK!

this is how it is for us, what began 
       as reflection, on our, our ganglia
            WAKING up
              at the riot of birds in
                                  warm spring
                                               rains

on a stolen holy day, with forgotten
tributes to the genocidal Aztecs
tributes to rutting and  fucking, signifying Leporidae
tributes to mountain gods, who extracted

sacrifices, through misadventure, or herd thinning
   then just spill the blood, slit the throat gently
                               better than < or >
           fear frozen predation? Zarathustra says so

an exclusionary holy day (CHANGE TO HOLIDAY)
     of salvation hoarding
      although a great source of fine horror stories
                     removed as we are
                                   
INSTEAD, [thematically] the weaponization 
of convenience, comfort, culturalization
how diagnosis trims the self, neatly,
fitting us up:

“each according to his ability, 
to each according to his needs”

DECODED: when dealing
with a large number of human resources
and to reduce wordiness, it helps to know
ahead of time the size of the coffin or urn
required:

“it used to be you grabbed a notebook
and a pen, if desperate, a knife and nicked
a quick quill and wrote:

                                  the chorus of birds
                                  move closer than before
                                  to hear spring rain

now our wrist buzzes, reminding us to
meditate, the wordprocessor needs to update
have been told rain is starting 6 times
this morning, the instant pot is cooking 
beans for a family gathering, at this age
the seasonal Spring energy will not lead
to Fall babies, bombs are falling, hospitals
children are being sacrificed over a 
land dispute, the most honest emperor
says *yes, I’m naked! So what?*
proudly displays his McDonald’s folds

the teeth clench: unclench

always using tooth metaphors? 
like grind, clench, lock, our AI can help.

not interested in using your AI, just 
a thesaur…

              maybe you're a bird? 

what? pretending to have teeth

WHAT THE ACTUAL FU…

PLEASE WAIT WHILE WE REBOOT

the rain”

In the spring, we tell the old stories again and again
Con/Jur/d, 4/4/2026

Spring has been too much 
all winter practiced being dead
forgot about the pain of rebirth
how suicides rise with the sap
don't blame those who are
trying to escape, the tomb 
is empty in modern parlance
because it’s prime real estate
a perfect starter home,
there will be condos on the hill
Bernard now looks like a prophet
who believed in the resurrection, 
and  the punishment saying heaven 
was wishy-washy belief bullshit, 
intuiting 40 years ago
how many Americans would 
practice, an unbreakable
faith in hell, yet, skeptical of the grace
Tim was murmuring Kierkegaard 
Bernard, running low on cocaine
spat out the word, EXISTENTIALISM 
in his thick John da Baptist
Norwegian accent, his  warm van
wrapped us in fish, stale beer
yeasty men, brought to mind
the allegory of the bird
flying through the ancestral
Viking lodge, the hope of Christ
escaping into the cold beyond
sans furs, family, or the retreat to Normandy

THINK  you know something about suffering
about the shape of this thing, this life?
do you? Jack his buddy, met and bonded
in the Alaskan PTSD self-medicating
underground, after each of their wars
ended officially, leaving their gyri with
endless skirmishes and adrenal 
GABAgeric loops, 
tried to steady him, grabbed
a shoulder - I was sent over as a farming
consultant, agriculturist, he said, lived, ate with  
                                             those people
fooled around, planted, drank, smoked
compared, contrasted methods, and 
                 one day a voice over the static
tells me, tells me, someone or someones 
is Vietcong 
and I don’t know who was, who is, who will
become who 
who pretends to like me,              plans
on killing me
                    false drinkers!, false
laughter, the seeds sprout lies!
                                           FALSE
false friends, lovers
and it is  April when we should be planting, planning

we’re just picking and sharing
fruit from spilling from the jungle, sharing
                like we were all communists
                                    (the ones we’re here
                                          to fight)
and if they can behave this way, hard
                                      to ignore, to separate
                                         us and them

WE GREW THE BIGGEST RADISHES 
                                         YOU EVER SAW

and what a shame, you know
 someone was going to slit my throat, and
for a moment, nodding on some local
sap, considered going back
                  to being fertilizer, I couldn't
I couldn't, tell them apart, so i killed
them all, I KILLED THEM ALL!

he was shouting now and we ran  and ran
into the outlines of trees, air thick with 
mosquitoes, moose
   left Jack was hugging him, left snot 
and tears, undone by 
        bright  ALASKAN STARS
        
the aurora borealis threatens to take us
into the dark/dark, over the EDGE
       we can't fall off, Tim
               yells, stretching out his arms
                taking the position:

TO FALL
                                                TO FLY

A Spring Fairy/tale
Con/Jur/d, 4/3/2026 

Spring is still/with us
   the imported asparagus
   has dropped in price,
          
           a whole people are being crucified
           we worry about the price of crude/since we are
       no not innocent, said over Australian lamb shanks
        
mmm/we say/do you taste the rich grass? the diesel?
the ownership of stolen land? when we were growing
up we had a raggedy ann doll
      read the depression era books/diddn yu?
                     builds up a great hunger all those soda/milk
                                     
                                                   FOUNTAINS

cookie trails into the darkwoods/ the camel/THE CAMEL!
               
                    (O GOD – they said – hansel and gretel 
           warned the kidz, about the cannibals, blackforest families
                        lost a relative may-hap, in the depth of winter
                        body stored up the chimney with the hams
                        and the winter was long/the hams were short
                         the damned/damned/ mice ate/ate/ we were so 
                                                                            afraid/dying
                        grandpa/ O GOD / no help from animation adept
                        some got a taste for it /manna/manna everywhere
                        if you know where to look/ O is that how billionaires 
                                    are made mamma?

we lost the raggedy ann doll and mouse named PELITE by WILLOW TREE
      when the spring rains came, bursting OUT of the storm sewers
      flooding THE CREEK 
                                that’s a false memory our mom’s xx whispers

THE WOODS had a great OAK
beneath it, we buried a treasure, of FOUND THINGS
of LOVED THINGS, when our younger brother
dug them up, the birds were singing, the poison ivy
wrapped/crept among the climbing vines
            
                                          the deer still visit the 'new' houses 40+
                                          years old now, THE TREE is someone's 
                                          hedge row, instead of the WAYBACK
                                          behind fallow fields, children still laugh
                                          others die to keep the lights on/to           hide
                                                                                                       secrets
the monsters nextdoor in BUMBLEFUCK, never listen/ y?
                                          
                                                                 the y got a tasteforit, diddnthey?

BOOK OF ACTS
For Carnival, Side Show, Museum and Circus
Con/Jur/d, 4/2/2026

“I don’t like ethnic food” comment overheard
at a McDonald’s

“The Government doesn’t get us -- there is nothing 
my generation like McDonald’s burgers and 
wants to work Gig jobs” French tour guide serving 
a Viking River Cruise population

1
_____________________________________

behind the Wizard’s curtain, lies a conman
a churchman for nonbelievers, due to the
inheritance beget by gendered hypnosis

DRIVEN

by a narcissistic a filicidal antihero who trapped
and tortured a local mountain god, bound it, performed
bonsai tortures, displayed it, like it was a universal, like
a carnival act, the only adult capable of love

RATHER

than the singular branch of teratology it was
the trauma trimmed neurology of one family’s
DEMIURGE, the diminutive man is attached
creating not only the Death Cult Singularity

BRÄ

bro, if you prefer, but the entire schismatic 
PATRIARCHY and their ANTI bishops
both isolationists, with their hearts
on their sleeves, misshapen, by the 

ORIGIN 

the original deification, the raising up of one
WORLD, as the only world, the only world
of science and faith bonded with pseudo
separation branding, saying, yes to 2 fountains, 
sure they are separate 

BUT 

equal panaceas, calling any naysayers
pseudoscientific, cryptozoologists, and conspiracy 
theorists, or just crazy or manic  or best practice

PARANOID

for daring to declare, it could

BE

much better than it is, more equitable, a better 
use of this one life than enslavement to  systems
created by sociopaths, possible futures constrained
to better fit us into their mechanization, their bordered
fiefdoms, while our true inheritance is 

INFINITE

whose expression was curtailed by our ancestors
who worshiped, and not knowing any better,
cyberized our biological imperative, installed systems
of control, we now call

NATURAL 
(even organic)

but they didn’t have you in mind, only their agrarian litter
child after child after child after child after child
to throw against the conditioned violence, the

STAYINGINPLACE

domesticated brutality, the weaponization of 
convenience, ease, the fascist tendency to 

DE-CIVILIZE 

all who do not fit, label (diagnose) as rotten fruit
bad seeds, invasive species, or in revolutionary
parlance

FREAK

out of all the possible acts, The Book of Rewilding
the most direct response to over cultivation, count
us among not only the curated, but the curator,
the curation and the direct lineage of the

CURED

2
_______________________________

SCRIBBLED IN THE MARGINS OF (a) LOST WORLDS AGITPROP
modified burn poetry, AKA found poetry
by Con/Jur/d, on 4/2/2025

COMPLETE SHOW $10.00 (we can’t do better)

Consisting of 2 GIANT PORCUPINES, "spiel" and lecture
                       (black ops marginalia 
                        written on our gyri)

NOTE: “I highly recommend the above attraction” 

W. H. J. SHAW (we believe we are not the sucker
                           born, not created, see how language
                           lies, creates; magicians only know how
                           other magicians might do it 
                           not how it was done)

Manufacturer of Life-Size Dying and Breathing
Mechanical Wax Figures (yes, this is how monotheists
                                          think of us)

Are a Moving 
       a Breathing 

Marvel of Art! (we believe modern artists are somehow trying to rip us
                        off, not adhering to the simple myth, creating
                        their own cosmos/universe through 

L(loops)(loops)PS of creation/critique )

I Can Make Any Figure You May Want (on brand for social media or
                                                                    other enrepeneurial  
                                                                                      disruptions)

MANUFACTURER                       (we are critical thinkers!
                                                      modernities promise
                                                      not subject to delusion or
                                                      propaganda, we know
                                                      we manufacture gods
                                                      cultures, we know we
                                                      might outsource to the
                                                      OTHER, we certainly
                                                             MEAN IT
                                                      don’t manufacturer
                                                      personal suffering)

ALL KINDS (of)

ILLUSIONS, 
MARIONETTES 
BLACK ART (oooooo) OUTFITS 

THE BEST VENTRILOQUIST FIGURES
(shudder) 

IN THE WORLD (curated)

Height of Perfection 
Superior in Finish, Durability 

                                                                     to All Others (marketing as a noun, is always
                                                                                           propaganda, and exclusionary
                                                                                           a deliberate losing of possible
                                                                                           worlds)

IN USE 

(the) WORLD(S) OVER  
         (© ™This Mutual Nondisclosure agreement (the “Agreement”) is entered  

                                                  into 

            by and between YOU      and US collectively referred to as the “parties” 
            for the purpose of preventing the unauthorized disclosure of 
            Confidential Cosmos as defined below 
            The parties agree to enter into a confidential relationship 
            with respect to the disclosure by one or each 
            (the “writer”) to the other (the “experiencer”) 
            of certain proprietary/lost worlds 
            (the “Confidential Cosmos”) 

HOME is where you make it
Con/Jur/d, 4/2/2025

Started too early today
layers and layers and layers
overwrote, everything, our
teacher tells the story of how
she asked her teacher, like they
asked their teacher, described
as a fog, a veil, a dense

                            OCCLUSION

he grabbed her and shook
the other hand waving away
imaginal cobwebs, THERE IS
NO OCCLUSION! like, when
we were young, and felt an extra 
spinal nob, and freaking out
the doctor said, NOT CANCER
LET’S MAKE SURE, and the shot
the back with full of Novocain
where the synthetic fibers had 

                             BONDED

with the skin, the time our FLANNEL
SHIRT: Flannel was 
                          originally made 
                          carded wool 
                          worsted yarn
                          now is made 
                          either wool, cotton 
           OR SYNTHETICS

burst into flame, at the old-fashioned
electric stove whose state of I/O was
indicated by an analog orange light

went out several years earlier
 
they cut us open, and at the time
we compared it to how a leather purse feels
being rummaged around in, feeling for change
or a comb, or birth control

now we would say, like a ventriloquist’s dummy
who has misunderstood freewill, and where the 

WORDS
               
come from. Today the ventriloquist was a bit
                    
                    LA DI DA

if you know what we mean. 
NO I DON’T! Maybe, tomorrow
less of the veil, more of the frame(less)
                                                empti(ness)

The Brick Wall at the Back of the Theater
“The illusion of freedom will continue as long as it's profitable” Frank Zappa
Con/Jur/d, 4/7/2025

Rawlins, Wyoming woke up to use
the bathroom in this generic, pre
chewed hotel. Road food is 
affecting our digestion and last 
night, turning off the TV, the driver
says I'm ready to be home, and 
as the navigator and  layperson
took the vow to leave home, we
betray  first principal of both to

GO

by agreeing, saying me too, no
matter the direction of change
inevitability of change, or freedom
held hostage by our ability to 
change or be forced to pick 
through the breakage; the news

came, some American Buddhists 
were organizing, getting off their
zafus, was said, something, some
thing, was said -- the Ox stirs, will
be said, we greet all this with
mixed emotions, samurai were
thugs for the warlords, zen monks
blessed the kamikazes, less we

FORGET

claim some manifest innocence
to cover our ignorance, the
baptized held the hot pokers 
the pitchforks, the rope
the priests are complicit in the
confusions of love, of sex
of violations, we’ve all served coffee
tea and pastries to Nazis, fascists
authoritarianates, who taught you
  freedom was only the ability
to buy goods from the impoverished
to be on the road with stolen gas
to diet by eating monoculture crops 
or to eat jungle fattened calves 
to value the strict dictates 
of personal liberation, as defined
by Empire, monetized by
Empire, enforced by Empire

Until freedom and subjection are

ONE

We're all good Germans now. And
we prefer the heretics, the Dragons 
arising, to the oxen who continued
to munch on the dharma while
Dragons gnashed and wept over
another genocide, who understood
the Anthropocene is not just about
warming, but soil, water, air, energy

FIRE

pumped into protective pocket between
the planet and the vacuum, knowing the
weather to be bigger, less predictable 
who understood, our karmic position
as junkies, repeatedly poking holes 
in this epidermal layer, until the body
burns from the inside; Serpent Poets
Drogonate Roshis, who see the
unfolding, the root of this dis-
ease and now that our souls have
been terraformed, everyone is

FINALLY 

getting hot and bothered, they are
offering water, revealing the river
 all around us, and beating their
wings, saying now that you have
woken up to your condition 
what are we gonna 

DO?

The illusion of freedom will continue as long as it's profitable to continue the illusion. At the point where the illusion becomes too expensive to maintain, they will just take down the scenery, they will pull back the curtains, they will move the tables and chairs out of the way and you will see the brick wall at the back of the theater. -- Frank Zappa

headshots
4/1/2026 Con/Jur/d

the trick of it
not that it doesn’t change
always or not/not changing
            O! like the saint/witch
who read without moving his lips?

blessing, supernatural, if there had been
a word like bigger than nature
instead of demon/god, so primitive, well

        there is nothing wrong with evolution
just misused, hidden by progress, 
                                  given a directionality

when really everywhere, at once
and we think there’s movement,    

 like how we’re all acting, allthetime
posting headshots, like we’re trying out
for the supershow, the show behind the show
transcends/includes the fourth and fifth 
many walls


where everything is real
and we’re not just portraying the role
                              O! See what you did there

how did we do?
              we will/we’ll get back to you, 
                                                           soon… ish
(years pass) 

headshots pt. 2 
(back to)


STONED, walking home
                              in BUFFALO, NY
witching hour, which due to closing time
4 AM, shifted from the usual 3 AM
to 4:30 TO 5:30, ENDING officially
at 6 AM when the first bar reopened
and the Greek Diners would close for 

an hour

Would imagine dying by assassination
          ( Lennon’s death by bullet only a few
                          years past, if only Hinkley
             had been as committed may be
                    the LONGWAR, 
                           could’ve mayhap been prevented )
by ammunition fired from a high-powered rifle

DEAD before the EARS heard BANG

no worry of dying
no pain, undoness blamed
on the killer, not on our LAZINESS

but, it was at the modern art museum
THE ALBRIGHT KNOX
        the thoughtless thought, had its APOGEE
        NON-CRIMINALIZED MDMA then, aka
3,4-Methylenedioxymethamphetamine

BECAUSE CORRECT CHEMISTRY IS IMPORTANT

we had indulged, better cure than other commonly
commodified white cleaning powders for 

neural gunkiness, and the cuddle-puddles
the sweaty confessions, the hugged drugged
SUCCOR, all the live long night before

not a thought left in our heads
not a , not a , not a , not a

Before THE JACKSON POLLOCK
(the same year we started smoking was the same year
his discarded paint stuck cigarette butt fell off -- 
 not to be restored don’t want to encourage
               the kiddies, smokeless they must commit
          domestic abuse and debauchery, and we )

said, WOW! Caught in the swirling swirliest of 

SWIRL! SWIRL! BLOTCH? a grammarless assault of color

where did the ‘wow’ come from? There was no one and none,

to wow

NO THOUGHT NO THROAT NO CONSCIOUSNESS NO LACK
OF CONSCIOUSNESS NO HEART SUTRA 
NO NOT HEART SUTRA, NO SUTRA BUT WOW

(if you think this is 2 or many poems 

                   there is no  2)

ONLY WOW

and the silence before
and the silence after

out of which comes all atomsantsaardvarks, bananascastlesdemons, energyfro -
gsguesses &

gods & galaxies graveyards & heavens IS & ISN’T & YOUS & USES, blasting out of

exploding into, banging thunderously:

                                                                SILENCE.

When we were kidz they didn’t mean/not that they were nice
Con/Jur/d, 3/30/2026

Never one thing                   he said
wake me up
                   after the evolution
                                           meant, of course

revolution, and for a while, he lived with us
not sure why
                   those days, much of the violence

PUBLIC IDENTITY, remained hidden

and so it would have stayed, until someone
wanted profit
                      display /ENTER/ your inside self

like a giant flag   (too many appz/tabz)  happy parade day
                       (we couldn’t afford st. ptrick’s)

then they start checking, not only if you salute

How. Why.
                  and despite the violence, and the bullying

(much worse/worse                  kept quiet
                                                 kept forgotten)

at least we could rely on the boyz/boyz girlz/girlz
boyz/girlz girlz/boyz
                                 that it didn’t work

repression in daylight

                      A flag so big it BLOCKZ/sunz

sorry for that
         it's how we were raised
at least you talk about it
                 reaching down stripping …

under the rock                                     STILL LIFE

undulate           calling it new worlds

like, trauma        like, dopamine  

still hides it                                YOU

is always a verb

                         at least when you’re alone

don’t hold/tight under faux security handholds

                                      NO-
                                    UNS!!!

knew
how to                                                    fly

when certainty slips.


                                                       …off

we call remorse
3/18/2026/ Con/Jur/d

We think of you with hunger
from the very start we said 
‘It cannot last’ but still the 
                                   MISTAKES
we made, both in the doing
and the unexpected perceiving
you brought, or the way your
friends, your family
                                   TRIED
to weave us into their dysfunction
into their sense-making
                                   LIES
assigning our motivations to their
terrifying
                                  CONFESSIONS
we were young then, we would say
                                   NAIVE
except we are still in this way
filled with unnamable longings, foolish
                                  INTERPRETATIONS
and, we’d apologize show you The
                                  WORK
we’ve done, if we believed in original
                                  SIN
but we don’t, and we call this temporary
                                 STRUCTURE
the unknowing creeping throughout our 
                                 BODY
our skin, our stomach, our gray matter, 
our mitochondrial engines, our microbiome
                                CALCIFICATION
maybe, a return to geology, but the youth of those 
stories, is long gone, like what we ate for dinner 
2 days ago, back into maelstrom of 
                                 UNKNOWING
an erasure, a death, so much of what we are
                                    
NOW
is survivor’s guilt, we call remorse
                                   ALL THOSE STORIES
we could have told together
                                  BURIED, CREMATED
                                  MIXED
into a slurry of regret poured and formed
                   into the moving foundation
                                 of the you
                                    who just
                                           ARRIVED
here, freshly born.

The noises we hear when we're alone 
3/21/2026/ Con/Jur/d

There were forests here
as far as
whole cultures,
                         at the bend
later, stripped of humanness
by idealism, uniforms
a poor substitute for compassion
and they were killed here, no?

moving masses of salmon
through streaming
              blood of families, red
erasing, correcting, remaking, mostly
flattening histories, a line going up 
has little room
for the historical, something easy 

to recreate 

lacking nuance, it's not those screams 
we hear when alone, if not for the
mice, the persistence of empty traps
the patina of an accelerated, less
middle, more excess, climate 
and the great 
                       fk losing

what little

variegated histories left
the creaks, the groans, the scuttles
the mechanical BEEP, when 
the machines pretend to be asleep 
(a friend listens to the screaming) 

our teacher clarified
if a tree falls in the wood
no sound is made, even
if you are the one who fells it 

sound is a word, a label
the footsteps, at night, in the attic
the clicking, the behind the wall

SHUFFLE 

unattended lineages of sound
asking TEND, TEND to us, we can
return to

TIME and PLACE 

leave you to the silence of 
this moment, NOW.

Rumor of a Rolling Stone
Con/Jur/d, 3/20/2025

Alive or Dead Haibun (HiBurn), with commentary: Stone rolls away? Stone rolls back? Both outcomes precommon era evidence of early conspiracy theories and fake new(s) 

“At this point, if you're being honest with yourself, 
you've been alive longer than you will be dead; death is an end to stories, particularly the over story of time, of one thing after another. We were talking on the street whose dilapidation is erased by the too bright sun and the crystalline piercing reflections of road salt, when you asked do you ever feel the God curse trying to convert you? Sure, sure we had already wrestled with the old demon, like Mallarmé, and managed to get up again, unlike or ancestors or the Prison Preachers of American evangelism, those locked into the steel and concrete nightmares of the corporatized American dream. We had come back, fulfilling the vow, an archaic engineer, digger out of stuck wheels, a trap de-de trapper, our culture, we warn, since the idiot King James needing to justify his ancestral butchery, his weakness for torturing hags, his hatred of woman, and the wrong sort of biblical polemics decided to ensnare a captive population with a foreign desert deity’s brush fire, our culture has  ached to fill the silence between moments with do not, do this, buy that, want, want, want, and to soothe the sore used self with verbal placebos to justify our misuse by wealth, our abuse by strength, the begetting (begat begat begat) of children by children, and the elimination of other’s children by the adults who should be in the protection racket of species survival, but  blame talking shrubbery, for this, that and these other inequities. All capped off by the most cinematic violence porn ever conceived,  with the rumor of  a rolling stone interceding between this now and this now and this now, ever rolling between what is and what they tell you should be. Don't fall for it. So ends the… SNAP!”

The distance between
Spring and Winter rains
story of lost god

Representational Democracy

Con/Jur/d,  3/8/2026

Not sure, before this we
was,
      absolute, 
               the small town
also state capital
hardly noticed, lack of
horses to count, and the
local market
                   still had chickens
at family friendly prices
without a private-equity 
pot, or memberships:
                            our 
daughter had been picked 
up by our EX who made
sure we understood, this
was not our life,
             ONE NEEDS
to be able to drive, as if the
whole continent wasn't enough
and it was always about money
needs must comfortable, not thinking
                    making our temporary
      home in the hotel bar, where
a hip lesbian bartender, before
the state said she could marry 
be happy, visit, only if fealty was paid

WAR.                   MACHINE.

         and the beer
         and the cigarettes were
         blurring boundaries
         between where we belonged

didn’t

talking about representational democracy
never having representation
                      even then terrified

by the carefully crafted normative
     THEY were a lovely couple
      looking for work, maybe a third
                      {be blinded by sadness}

they bought drinks, we talked bands
art, how beautiful the wilderness
around us, how it felt fated to be here
among friends, eternal nomads, off 

this world,
                  now an ‘our town’ set/
setting for their frustration
      not being able to find work

despite the look the bartender gave
and how raucous the environment 

now was, 
              came for lunch, now past dinner

WELL LOOK WHO’S PRESIDENT 

           and the record skipped
           
hope you didn't mean the one we voted for? 
suddenly quiet, our beer betterment therapist
took away our drink,
                                made our excuses
left          

later, in bed, packed ready to fly back 
THE BIG CITY COAST, knew to
        never trust anyone who votes! 

a few years later, vows forgotten
                             Look, look,
                                 how that turned out.

A BELIEF IN HEMISPHERIC DIVISIONS HAS REAL WORLD CONSEQUENCES
(don’t like it when you capitalize)
Con/Jur/d, 3/7/2026

   we dreamed the left side
(your right) of our skull, 
became loose, the doctor
                    warned us

come back if you develop
symptoms, there are no meds

forthisourmarketingdepartment

is trying to solve the problem
it's a problem of LABELS, without 
those, even enemies

BLUR

get the best, forgive karma
offer better 
offers, just human you know
blameless, free, constrained

by language.

                    And we were
reading, and you said
hey you know we like you
are fond 
            but your right eye
rather, your left from this
angle of habitation

                             LOOKS
wrong, and we said

                               WE ARE
BLIND, half justice!
call a doctor, call a lawyer
call the marketing department
see what stories they're telling

ONE EYE LOOKS OUT
ONE EYE LOOKS IN

         from your perspective
         can you tell which is
    
which.
 

Only Murderers and Maimers Get To Board First
AT THE START OF WAR, Con/Jur/d


Thug life is the best life
the Thugee understand 
what takes 4 years of biz-
ness skool to
                  im.        part

mad respect if you can
reclaim the language
from the eastIndian CO
coo, this utilitarian
empire building, place
putting, anglosphere 
LANGUAGE, adapted
traps and snares removed

impart, O yea, O yes
THUGS, understood
karma was theirs, all
though, the decision.   to steal
murder, torture and
                         intimidate

without an external authority
affects us all, who 
bearing the lash of poverty
beating the drums of 
PAT.           PAT.        PAT -
riotism the othering of others
the mothering of mothers 

(NEW AND IMPROVED 
        MECHANICAL 
             WOMBS!)

don't let nature nurture! 
that was so pre-conquest
so giving in to

RED
RED
RED

ambulance drivers, firepersons
doctors, nurses, teachers
and post toddlers, PLEASE 
WAIT                     WAIT

while assassins, thugs, those who
took the deal, to at least support 
if not commit to, pulling the trigger
dropping the bomb, flying the BIG
BAD BUZZ BUZZ SWOOSH
RAT.            TA.                    TAT

or other toy BIG DADDY built
trained you to use DO YOU WANT
TO PLAY? or we can (we will) take it
away. Yes, it's just like that. We can't
use advertising slogans like

BABY KILLER anymore

just endless

THANK YOUS

you're still responsible 
for your own
Karma

NO MATTER WHO YOU BELIEVE
you consigned it to.

1,2,3,4, Many
Con/Jur/d, 2/27/2025

One white gravestone
on uniform field of snow

two white gravestones
cut from marble, poke out

three white gravestones
try to grab leaflessness

four white gravestones
this is what we thought

Death was

many white gravestones
a frost on living, not grasping

an end to form
fecundless,  skeletal bleached
fingers                         point

to an empty sky.

We would like to say something profound
about death, the truth is we just don't 
                                            know

no one does,
     until you bring us back a memento

Dead Hunted 
(A DKS of Pete Namlook’s OMID / HOPE from Silence 1 remastered 2022)
AKA Half a Hand Grenade with thanks to @peterwebster
Con/Jur/d, 2/21/2026

On describing the project
of using music, rather the space- oousness 
as a discreet koan study
                                      he said
THAT's like half a hand grenade

And the way, you do, when after
this time before, wanted to/will do
Rep-ly, depends which half, pin or
                                               casing?

Or as our friend hiking in the cemetery
said
      this is zen
and we replied, no, no THIS IS
       We went back and forth for a time

Which misses the point
           we hadn’t wanted to walk
a cold winter slurry fell from the sky
considering what’s wrong
                    what choice did we have?

We hunted the dead, or as Pete Namlook
says in his commentary
                                    YOU ARE THE RAIN
expounding further
                             BEAUTIFUL

SILENCE, is which?
                                BENEATH THIS COLD RAIN
is it PIN or CASING? and depending on the distance
hardly matters, before we are
                         DEAD and we are forever spacious

We’ll hear
         the rain fall
         endless silence
         If we’re persistent and lucky, THE BEAUTIFUL
becoming the inevitable

                             BOOM!

Different Life
2/21/2026, Con/Jur/d

he had been having panic attacks
and his mother had planned a trip

back to the motherland, recently
unsovietfied, everything suspended

this afternoon, the elder magus, had
to watch him, make sure

the Kundalini threatened, to 
explode from spine, head, toes spill 

all he could do, as the energy rose
into         street  by the warehouse    

the train whips past, giving an excuse
for his segmented rattling
      
      charge building, he says, I’m so
afraid of getting on the plane, locked

the first bad one was the flight 
from Rochester              San Francisco

and the one who only a couple of years 
later, would leave his body and not

remember how bold we used to be? he
says, and you don’t have to

what? GO what? the relief he felt
how did the air get so calm?
                        
                     no one lives in industrial
corners

             now, years later, he trusted
him as witness for his first marriage

no, he didn’t see 9/11, birth of his 
daughter, divorce and all the mistakes 


after, all the woman broke his plates
drank frozen vodka, not for him

         different karma (life)

Wordle in a Winter Storm Watch
1/26/2026, Con/Jur/d

We sit in the assigned seat
in the living room, facing the TV

And see the world of literary
criticism, comment as a series of stairs

Sleator's ‘ House of Stairs’ we read in grammar 
school, I can't believe kids read Dostoevsky now

We didn't have that in 1974, most books were
youngest age appropriate

We donated our copy of The Hardy Boys
Meet Bigfoot, because it was fantastique

Saw someone writing a book on DH Lawrence
and TS Eliot and knew it as a room upstairs

Last night's Melville devotees reminded us
of the D&D gang we played with on holiday

*or Burners

Downstairs, where we dreamt of marching
and we screamed and screamed 

The basement, unless you live there is
filled with unwashed memories 

We move to the bathroom, do Wordle
signal where we are on the map

If we want access to more than these floors 
we need to get reading or shovelling.

*THE WORD OF THE DAY WAS: FREAK
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Koan Study (DEMO)
CASE: “Atomic Grandmother
Galina Juritz - Esperando a Floria”
Con/Jur/d, 1/19/2026

really don’t like your writing
he says, used to, but was younger 
experience, is your bag,
                   And they’re trying
to rewrite, reframe our stories
                 DISCORDANCE

is necessary to reclaim
even the heroes journey from
the RECOVERISTS, and sadists
over at the WAR - MURDER &

CELEBRATE ( enough to attract
new and desperate recruits ) dept.
how old are you? it's not murder, it’s
defence, of profit

plutocrats, self-assigned selves
who’ve bought the hollow
                        where your soul
                        could be,
                                       NO
chh, we own this, she says
making an encompassment with her
POINTER, encompassing everything
if you didn’t want to sell it, you 

shouldn’t have: branded it
disrupted, marketed, called it betterthan 

YOU are confused by the inside/outside
paradox, your ears hear it, without
your flesh there would be nothing, we mean
NOTHING, to touch, taste, smell, hear or see it

would be there anyway
NO ONE to experience it, and for us too
or did you think you were alone in here?

A NICE FANTASY

hurts, doesn’t it?
us too, us too.

let us know
Con/Jur/d, 12/28/2025

three in one we are, just like the old
church perverts said, and tried to 
take_claim via crook and thug rugby
without rules in Byzantium, we were
told
    but didn’t listen. we understand
at the base we are nothing, and people
will pay
and pay
       and          
             (build billionaires, sycophant cocks
or whatever pleasure centers, the powerful
hold, as the last connection to their animal
selves, it's why they invest in immortality
not understanding the obvious truth
the one we are born with
      actively drowned
                 disowned
                          sold                  for food
                                                   and shelter

Juan Ponce de León, The Buddha and to a lesser
extent The Christ, whose life_ message edited
by the horror-movie ending, the important bit was
the journey, not your fantasies of after) and pay

to be given meaning, to make up a story to die for


honestly, like we said about smart drugs, the first
sign (BUGSPLAT on the windshield of your
perception) they’re working is remembering how
bad your memory is, normally we walk around in 

HAZINESS, maybe you’ve automated it, hoped
your list making would stave off, whatever it was
you were afraid of -- it was, if you could just
arrive at the right google search phrase, or AI
question, then you would remember
                               would remember
                               would remember
                               WHY. you.

why you came here and what you were looking
                                for

but you can never be immortal, maybe 
remain youthful, and why not? your second childhood
though, will not happen 
       to the same person 
                  as the first time

if you’re honest with yourself, continuity is a game
             the lie we tell ourselves 

maintain (MAINTAIN)  an appearance of order
we mean biological death yet, all the cells 
                                                     in our bodies
                                                     are different
                                            renewed

and your tastes, your tendencies 
differ than before, and if they don’t, if that’s
                                                            just
                                                            how
                                                             you
                                                             are

you’re living an excuse
                    a fiction

which is fine (you won’t get judged by us
                      WE DON’T PROVIDE MEANING)

just remember The You, now, chose this, 
                                                        NO REALLY

who else could? asking for a friend, if you find
someone else, other than yourself, right here
right now, who is responsible for your happiness
your lack of happiness, 
             your anger, 
             your pleasure,
             you, not a dead you from ago
                     THE YOU HERE_NOW

PLEASE, let us know.

THE VENEERS OF CIVILIZATION
Con/Jur/d -- 12/??/25

the neighbor took pity
snowblew the sidewalk
we never talk, instead
when traveling, enriching 
exploring other cultures
as if a victorian, when
the big lies of difference

THE OTHERS, THE
CHOSEN, the cannon
of comfort and 
              conveniences

as the civilization 
                     SIGNAL 
OVERWHELMS
pretends to emerge
organically, hides your
human citizenship

your belonging to NOISE
where kindness, dignity, authenticity
dwell in impermanence, unpredictability
           
to be replaced by flushable toilets
teethwhiteners, mechanized brooms

Here, undone from the
the unspoken, but understood
rules, the ugliness of poverty
WHY WOULD THEY CHOOSE
THIS? the sense, people
were not invented to be
antiheros, background
for this streaming season
but a continuity, with better
histories, greater than this sterile

<>

MAW

whose bloodred teeth
are whitened by the veneer
of civilization, here among
those traveling away from

 the mechanical hungry
GHOST, whose distended 
HUNGRY, HUNGRY 
                 stomach

and very thin neck
never to be satisfied
only starving

NAME IT!

civilized, empire, those 
lies of freedom, the endless
consumption, the proud
consumer, citizen 
vampire, zombie

no matter how many vegetables
supplements, burpees you do
your gullet remains, raw red stained

except when 

just passing

                   THROUGH 

US (SOLSTICE 2025)
con/jur/d, 12/21/2025
“...printing in the infernal method by corrosives, which in Hell are salutary and medicinal” --
William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell

40 years later, another solstice, the acid is still working
‘melting surfaces away, revealing what is hidden,’ b4
we realized Ginsburg, who believed he was
                                                                 a branched

(RE)incarnation of Blake, probably introducing the 
ACID moniker, 

          to     Pranksters

not calling her by her middle name
rather, Lysergic acid diethylamide, contracted as
a reference to the above-mentioned corrosive
                             acidulation
                             another way
                                   to describe a heroic
                                        dose, SEE: Climbing
                                    the  world TREE

the low limb
easy to grasp, the tech metaphors
                                      media, of the day
whose greatest critic the       auteur

DAVID CRONENBERG
       the critique unsurpassed 
       yet to be refuted, 
                                 VIDEODROME

when we heard about the ACID TEST
                         nothing   LASTS

WE HAD ALREADY DREAMED
                FILMED OURSELVES
FILMING OURSELVES, watching
filming, watching filming, filming watching
                       BEHIND THE SCENES
thru your eyes
filming, watching filming, filming watching
what you reading? filming, watching 
filming, filming watching, filming, 
watching filming, filming watching, right now
from behind, thru in, in front of filming
watching filming, filming watching, DO DO 
DO little more, MORE, MORE filming 
watching filming, filming watching, scenes
Scenes LATELY, AFTER WRITING, READING
SEEING, HEARING, FILMING, WONDER
if WE’d 
         do
         done it before, as if we
                                         were
                                              RE: BEFORE or,
or still just filming, watching filming, filming 
watching, O YES WE’VE BEEN HERE 
                                                    BEFORE
“HEY BUDDY”
         WHAT? 
STOP! filming, watching filming, filming 
watching. WHO? us, us, US

Pledge of Allegiance
Con/Jur/d, found among the undated tangle of open-tabs

You made a promise when you were born
to live this life as grown, you were not born
with original sin, gods, color, religion, tribe
or place, these were assigned by others,

your freedom
                     CURRENTLY AVAILABLE
BY CLOSING YOUR EYES<
 LISTENING TO<
THE PLACE UPON WHICH THE SCORE<
IS WRITTEN<
 THE BIG SILENCE< 
THE SEEING<
 THE HEARING OF INCLUSION< 
NOT THE SMALL BLINDNESS<
  THE SMALL DEAFNESS <
OF ELIMINATION <

was constrained by others to hoard
for the entangled genetic manifestation
we call family, tribe or the misnamed
race (there is no one to beat, nothing to
preserve, when the species flourishes
evolution wins)
                        BURSTS FREE
of the confines of a language
                             rigged game

knowing this, that you were not part
of a game, not assigned a role, rather
the miraculous result of years, centuries
millennium, epochs and aeons, of 

TRANSITORY

SOMETHING, from the BIG-NOTHING

and you are the miracle of something

AND

the miracle of nothing

And it happened without your permission
without explanation and with full knowing
without limiting excuses, habits of naming

JUST THIS

WHAT DO YOU PLEDGE TO?

don’t dodge behind god, or family or 

LIMITS

right now
now being the only limitation
to what, do you, in all your

GLORY

vow?

Part 1: Before I forget
stolen, subsection name of this 
Book of Spells we’re working on


wanted to tell you
about wrestling with God
finally throwing the Old Demon
down, spit out
                      away from the chariot
it is as terror/ecstatic FULL
       as rumored
       as told

having met so many gods now
find the jealous cannibal king
is best forgotten, there are 

so manymanymanymany ways to be
there is a reason monotony and monotheism
                                    share one root
                   

look here, how many others
demand no-price but 

CELEBRATION. Those who charge
absolutes, who make you forget
demanding sadomasochistic  

                                      submission

DOMINATION, are usually quite silly
and don’t address the source
                             the hollowness
                       your existence 
                      your experience

If you need to be told how to be
how to act, and you need to externalize
your source of good, 
                              maybe you need
a little more honesty --

Please see ROSALÍA, Björk, Yves Tumor - Berghain
below, which began to play, just as we got stuck
needed a way forward needed…

THE ‘REVIEW’ SURCHARGE
“There are days we cry at commercials
there are days we see everything 
                           as a confidence game
false supplicants for your attention” -- Doc Con, ACHTUNG BABE! A TIME
TRAVELERS GUIDE TO THE 21ST CENTURY’S: AMAZING RACE


it’s the time of year our ancestors hibernated -- not in the -- we are people of the BEAR way
     rather, in the way Gurdjieff says “I teach when it rains the pavement gets wet” of
                                  course,

accompanied by music and dance, if you could hear it, and MOVE IT< MOVE IT<MOVE IT
against the gentle pitter/patter
             as the dip, in the sidewalk fills with rain

this time of year, the rain will inevitably become ice, (for now) 
                                                                                  will become
a lawsuit, an AMERICAN living the DREAM by fat judicial paycheck, you’re either born
with it
         or you need to leverage THE ACCIDENT, (Virilio, P, Crepuscular Dawn)
                                                                            which long ago supplanted
         merit, this accident of your place/space of birth, an accidental parentage
         which, at this writing, is still needed, and failing all those things

there is the REVIEW surcharge, which is an organic (capital composting) 
                                                                                   result of the BRAND as
AN ARRANGEMENT of stories, both stated, implied and vibed, replacing
the merit myth with bernaysian propaganda, (A DERANGEMENT: to para-
phrase G again, we are subject
to forces that manifest as habits and attenuated desires),
                                                                     we can’t understand
 and it takes the rare individual
              to want to change, to be free. This can be assayed with only
               2 questions:

1 WHAT DO YOU WANT?
&
2 WHY DO YOU WANT IT?

these days when biology and self-governance are called into question, or repackaged
to be sold back at a premium, the natural response is to fight/flight questions
to ask, instead, for a review of your products, your services. (when your client/customers/
                                                                                                capital/ resource having 

                                                        bought
in bulk to preserve the sanctity of the dollar, to assure its sacrifice is
properly participatory, with luck, stained in blood (by fiat, of course) 
                                                                             DOUBLE the
             frequency of advertisement/chastisement
                better deals, lasting just a moment
                  YOU are a fool for not taking
                           ADVANTAGE -- no wonder
                                     (poverty/struggle/divergence)

AND SO NOW

               WE REVIEW, AND INCLUDE IN THE REVIEW THE SURCHARGE
                      WE NEED TO GO BACK TO SLEEP
                                         WE NEED TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE HYPOCRISY
                                                 OF SLUMBER

at least that’s where we’re at -- we don’t want to tell you what to do
or be the SUFI who had to give up sweets, to pass on the message

Is not the pavement wet? Covered in flaked and frozen water?
IS’NT THIS TOO INFORMAL?

          hours before the sunrises, the streetlights, the ambient luminous pollution
          helps dim the stars despite the crisp/cold amplification
             (the heaviness of particles, driven down
                                                                             down)

          the reflected light creates yet another attenuated 

false dawn.

THE EVIDENCE FOR MANGOS SPROUTING LACKS CONVICTION
Con/Jur/d, 11/25/2025

The comedy club 
stinks; need to change 
the sheets; we woke
from a dream of sleeping
under a bridge with you

on stage, the comic says

SCIENTIFIC MATERIALISTS!
AM I RIGHT? to sparse 
laughter, BETTER THAN

THE THEOCRATS
AS A BAND NAME, THOUGH!

an upwelling of watery ringing
laughter, cuts off with a KERPLUNK
in our section and realize we’re
seated in the deep end, beneath
midnight blue lights, with tuna
fresh out of school, waving fins like
little hands, a few sketchy squid &
cuttlefish, running Las Vegas lights 

hypnotically

across, their swelling torsos, tentacles
wave nervously when the waiter
 walrus, leans over and takes
    a vase from our table, saying 

YOU EATING THAT?

pulls out flash cards
tosses them, like a dessert menu
photos, from a crime scene 

viola
violin
cigarette butt
thigh of a woman or a deer
(covered by a duvet cover)

the laughter  rises
they’re joking about being wasted 
on the young, the sheer physicality 
the way of feats, performed casually
like grabbing the moon
making snow, sleet, rain serve 
rather than interfere with desire

IT’S ALL BACKGROUND TO THEM, ENIT? 

and then something about
when we were young
porn was hard to come by
settled for the beach 

the sweatiness of short skirts
why evolution will make us

HAIRLESS LIKE A NAKED DUVET

remembering how under the bridge
on the thin cardboard, cars and pedestrians
one glance away, you are the age 
we met, and still curious, without expectation
how lips and tongue and teeth are
whole worlds, how sex is a surprise
never a transaction, how we spoon together
nestled, like a seed with its sprout
how we couldn’t tell which one of us
was dreaming, which one was the dream 

we jump up, yell across the club
glassy eyes watching, some
filming over

YOUR EVIDENCE FOR MANGOS 
SPROUTING LACKS CONVICTION 

WHAT? he says holding up plastic
coated graphic panels, labeled 

LIFE CYCLE OF THE MANGO

depicting

HUMAN ANATOMY

 and now the crowd roars with laughter, 
relief, they recede

we return to our age in this temporal eddy
move back into the background 

with

the uncrossable distances 
the comprehension defying rise and fall
of gravity waves, the light into matter
burst, which eradicates our memories and
behind us, the heat death of our solar system’s 
center disappears into the same infinite 
receding recursion we do on a grander
bigger scale, still infinitesimal in the whole
big roiling

on our lips
tongue and throat, remains 
a salty, sweet, and sour

equatorial fruitiness of YOU.

English Prime
Con/Jur/d, written before coffee or November's weak 
watery light, sometime last week

Even native’s cannot speak ESL
English-Prime as a second language
autocorrect, the grammar
catcher, which was meant
to catch our dyslexic
THERE, THEIR, THE AIR

now tuts like your outsourced
corporate boss over our shoulder
suggesting stronger language
more clarity, less uncertainty

NO pidgin, NO creole 
ab-so-fu-ck-ing NO
spainglish (without deportation)

we need to be an effective
representative of the empire 
a better mandarin, you’re 
dialect robbed of SOUL

BORG as bureaucrat
not for a better life, a better culture
more equitable breath, for the betterment
of a few, fewer, certainly not you, the involuntary
inheritor of empire’s dregs

second hand smoke from Hyper Daddy’s
FAT ASS JOINT.

The Pursuit of Truth in the Public Domain
Con/Jur/d, 11/??/25 –11/24/2025

While it is true
this is far more addictive
than the scraps you’ve
left us, and the moral
science you call addiction

you wield like a cudgel
more of a bossing mallet 
in truth, recovery being the
socially acceptable HERO’S
JOURNEY left to the hoi-

polloi, and even the identification 
of this journey, like the invention
of the unconscious, isn’t true

rather, a deeper excavation
of the MYSTERY, revealing
something fundamental
which quickly becomes the
catalog description: CEREMONIAL
PIPE WITH ALKALOID RESIDUE
the pursuit of truth traded
for funding, and

we know this is unfair
but an ex smoker knows
more about the lies we tell
ourselves, than the habituated
clean and sober illusionist
could ever dream of, deluded
by the tricked out scales
of blind JUDGMENT 
we make decisions based on rigged
mass, consider the truthiness
of ADDICTION vs. HABIT

the superstitious old scientists
tale of chemical imbalances, rather
than cultural connivances of disembodied
worth, illusions of merit, and ever
receding truth, whose chase
has been copy written, patented 
removed from the public domain.

The essential step when dealing
with the Oligarchy's plans for your
future: A PARABLE 

You and Aṅgulimāla

STOP!

The Buddha said to Aṅgulimāla
this means you said it to
everyone you know said it
and the 10’000 things implied 
           it

But first Aṅgulimāla
wanted to know,
          why this Prince

was unafraid. Why he didn’t
run like Jamie Lee, freeze like
the sleep away campers, scream
like sorority girls. At the sight
of his finger necklace, his hat of ears
he made a too much face and walked
away, slowly

Aṅgulimāla, stunned, took a moment
to give chase, he couldn’t be found
the Monster of Bandits, the Eater
of Children called out

HIDING ARE WE? 

The Buddha, sitting quietly 
at the base of a tree, right
there, where he called out:


NO. JUST RESTING

AHHYE! why don’t you run?
why do you refuse to be prey?


There is nothing to plan
nothing to do, no one to be
nothing to become

IT IS EASIER FOR A COLLECTOR
OF FINGERS, TONGUES?(glancing at Aṅgulimāla’s
vest)
       UGH 
                   Buddha waggles
                   a finger, nails painted
                   in a woman’s style) 

TO REACH MARS THAN FOR
A RICH MAN TO BE HAPPY

WHAT?

SORRY, says Siddhartha, glancing 
at the temporal camera - I’M OFTEN
MISQUOTED AND MISTRANSLATED
AT LEAST I’M NOT THE DESERT
ONE THIS TIME, he gets up

starts walking

STOP! yells Aṅgulimāla

I DID -- YOU ARE THE ONE
WHO HASN’T STOPPED

AND

Aṅgulimāla stopped