From August, 2018


writer’s laminate

“If writing’s what you love to do, then do it and don’t ever stop doing it. Because the only thing we’ll ever have is what we love.” – Cole K. Yet I find myself lost, wondering about my own merit. Gauging my success with a flawed metric.   Success should be derived from accomplishments, feats of independence not from the opinions of others. Even still, our humanity requires comparisons to be made– from one soul to the next we encompass each other as if eclipses of some divine Being.   the pen moves itself across the page and the writers…

Doth I Dream?

Thus acknowledged what cruel truth knowledge brings, Of pearly white teeth and linen frocks, Of your golden locks, my heart doth sweetly sing. your smile reminds me of most clear-minded thought, Awaken, Awaken, Calls Raven, Caws Crow–   for through my pupils, It’s beak doth ween. Spoken now, incantations of Hope, doth I dream.  


like gods clamoring over who’s right and whats wrong, lightning leaps between clouds, silent as a fox– a ricocheting vein of already fading hue represents so much more than charged ions:   impulse of the earth, strike dirt in front of me. flickering white light , I watch you confounded. Call to your brethren around you: lift your voices as one! Your enraged stammer is ten thousand volts of plasma: I receive your furious screams amazed as you paint behind clouds with an impermanent and obvious secrecy.   Lay but one finger upon my skull– give me just one morsel of…

signed in clay fingerprints

cloaking themselves in the fabric of time, my thoughts weave patterns until I’m left an empty stomach and a sunken set of eyes.   Even so, I can clearly see the two of us as we work towards an existence unknown; towards expanded imaginations and deepened perceptions.   like bookends we might never need average the score, our means forever apparent and crudely bound–   their strong spines proudly tattooed, their titles written across their flesh.


I. gilded gates rooted into obsidian, boulders rich with crystalline dust, It takes many forms yet forever exists in what crude sliver it has cut for itself   II. red book Blue book purple book. Black go the spots as they float over my eye– fifteen rows deep three floors tall five rows often across It is a gateway seldom explored   III. ice moves into place, pulled forth– from stagnant existence into the tumult of life   IV. Verdant flames kindled from the spit of Its youth, it seeks balance though such is a reprieve not yet earned.  

Shopify Store Checklist

Change, I think Deltas, right?   I’ve been sitting At this desk For hours   Writing and planning and writing plans for more planning…   Startup company meeting Ended at 6:00 PM So I sat and stretched   Intermittently, stopping to check my phone or walk around…   Yet just now, after 6 hours of sitting, stretching, planning, writing about planning, writing about writing plans,   my foot glosses over a protractor, a mathematical practical delta   A change.   So I scratch my Mosquito bites, dumbfounded, because   why, now, do I stumble upon the protractor…the delta   as…


Some of the content below will hold appeal, while a lot of it may not. Although I’m sharing this essay with you, I do want to remind you that this was written to help me understand how I can best live my own life.  Bear with me as I delve into an exploration of time, space, consciousness, and intelligent design. If the physical matter given to you (your body) is yours to keep until you die, and if your consciousness is a constant that doesn’t really change over time, how do you become both your past and future selves simultaneously? How…

Wink Received from Above

I. I do not wake I return; My thoughts radiate internal energy, I burn.   II. Cantonese “Yit Hay.” Internal Heat.   A red mark has appeared between my eyebrows.   Pineal stamp.   III. Time is frozen, A segment of interconnected rays expands outwards in eight dimensions.   IV. We exist always in the know:   Memory allows us to imagine the past and the future.   The “I” is the third eye,   Use it and you learn to separate the fibers of reality.   V. Discernment: the sorting of information.   Information is timeless.   “Reality” is…