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
Much love,
Con/Jur/d, 3/21/2026