A Reflection on The Transient & The Ephemeral

What lies at the core of worship?

Even the most devout atheist, in some form of another worships.

There exists, a compulsion in humanity, to latch oneself, an agent of transience, to The Fantastic, The Ephemeral, The Numinous.  Whether it is to a God, or perhaps zealous adherence to secular scientific doctrine, maybe even The Artist who seeks to affix herself to eternity vis a vis her magnum opus, effectively becoming a saint of her craft.

In the simple work that we do…

In regards to the pursuits we engage in with ease, that feel as a natural extension of self expression; what springboards the individual towards mastery?  For the hobbies we love, we enjoy them not simply for the sake of the act, but rather mastery of the act itself.  I do not believe this is simply an outpouring of Western tradition, it seems worldwide people are not content to write a story, but rather write the best story they have the capacity to write.  It seems a very human thing to triumph over and above oneself.

At times I have felt when I am writing my poetry that it is not so much me that is writing but rather I am having a higher metaphysical communion with a force or agent of which I am only capturing the bare minimum due to the poor capacity of my feeble mind.  Forever relegated to snatch crumbs but never perceive the big picture.

But this isn’t true at all is it.  The human brain is as of the moment of my writing the most complicated and sophisticated structure in the known universe.  What am I really yearning for in my pursuits? As I live and draw breath and wake up with vague purpose, living through the banality of my day hazily and lazily until The Spark ignites in me during truly singular moments.   Like when looking at a beautiful woman and being moved to a state of selfless expression.  Or waiting vacantly for the maelstrom of ideation to take hold of my wanting consciousness. What moves me to strive? Above and beyond. It validates my existence in a way that is so existential I feel I could handle any great expanse of time or myriad obstacles The World would throw my way so long as I retain mere embers of The Spark.

For without my art I am lost…

A flame absent a wick on which to burn…

Even as I’m writing this something stirs within me…maybe a psychologist would have some designation for what it is I’m feeling, maybe what I’m saying is wholly insignificant, experienced by innumerable human souls before me since antiquity.  But this feeling of being tethered to something greater as I pursue the highest capacity of this instance of my work, I believe lies at the heart of worship.

It is in these singular moments of silent, nigh psychic communion, perhaps with my subconscious or the metaphysical world beyond, that I feel lies the crux of worship.  It is in these moments that I feel Death holds no sway over me and that although my flesh is bound to erode I am fundamentally impervious to destruction.

I am comforted.

I personally am not necessarily all that religious, I am also a staunch proponent for much secular science, but in moments like this I believe…In the ever twisting and stretching limbs of Space and Time, I am significant not because my work will be honored, but because I have honored my work.

We are all vehicles to the destination of immortality.

Worship faithfully.

I Remember You

[If I had two hands with the depths of God’s…I would pull out everything I feel for you and hang it in the night sky.

I would fashion everlasting, a unity between the two of us persisting like a couplet, sung until it burned through the foundation of matter smelting space and time into a universe.

I would tie myself to you and ask for nothing more…

If I had two hands with the depths of God’s I would scarcely scratch the surface for all that I feel for you…]

(I ruminate on proximity…The closest I could ever be is a mile away. Holding to you is like holding Life itself, in all of it’s splendid and myriad virtues, as well as the tenebrous tangling profane.

You are my movement, my joy, my ease, my light, all things cosmic and gentle…fiery and intimate. I smile with half the effort without you.

Like hands in warm sand and draped in ocean mist I want to breathe you in like a kept promise, like a sudden remembrance, like a return home.

I don’t know but I feel you are my origin…)

{I would lay everything at your feet.

I would meet you at the intersection of art and romance, where power gives way to mercy, and where melanin trades with each other.

Every ounce of your skin I would adorn, no subtlety, I would greet you with thunder.

My hands, my mouth, my eyes, would be made for you…

My skin, my strength, my appetite, would devour you…

No matter how close you were, I would reach for you some more,

Thighs, chest, lips, searching for your roots.

Parting you from senseless senses, heaving you to the coterminous.

I would carry you to the far side of rhapsody…}

Because I remember you…

Fire & Water in The Mouth of Ophiuchus

Beauty resplendent in glory like sunlight,
Won’t you hold me close to your burning skin?
Won’t you draw me in with those eyes like flames?
Boil away the shallow doubts interceding in my veins like frigid rivers of rumination reminiscent of indecision hesitant longings and parting ways.
Won’t you ignite my Summer days?
Ring around my skin like thick coils,
Tongue fluttering like fantasy, black sand restless tides finding comfort in my shadow. The place you reside when you illuminate my desire.
A tight clutch while you drink me in, Sun soaked, star drenched, delight drugged, desperately drunk, existential expression.
Expectantly awaiting touch…
Hot and Wet makes steam.
Fire and Water makes dreams.

Black Goddess

Black goddess
You come bearing gifts with names like peace and poetry.
May I remind you of your smile?
Your beauty contours within the mind with potency.
You beckon with divinity that doth preach to me humility.
May I remind you that your smile occupies infinity?
With that deep seated skin of envy, loose curls, black beach, rolling waves, of aromatic ecstasy.
May I remind you of your smile infinitely?
You come bearing exotic gifts like emotions and longing for memories.
I’ll put a place for you on my ambition’s throne, for women like you belong in the heart of song and deserve to make dreams their home…
May I remind you to whom your smile belongs?
I just want to lease it, with an extended lifetime warranty in case I misplace it.
May I remind you of your complexity?
Omniscient, because all I know is all the things that I would do for you.
Omnipotent, because you empower, design, desire and creativity.
Omnipresent because no matter where I go I can’t stop thinking about you, filling my vision with your dominion.
That is your work Goddess…that is your worth to me.

A Reflection On Mercy

My corner of the world is a bad place not because the people are bad, but because people don’t care. It was once said that all it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. There is a peculiar evil that pervades my city, a kind of diabolical apathy. Unrelenting scorn for the homeless, assumptions of fear in dark alleys, and devils lurking in the pockets of sagging pants. Since when did mercy become folly? Circumstance become sin? All that separates me from the man on the corner are a few sheets of paper… Or maybe a single misfortune. The same fate awaits us all. We all are buried in the same grave in the end. It would do us all good to constantly be reminded. The greatest danger we face as a race is the surprising ease with which we can forget the humanity in each other. Distraction is our greatest adversary yet.

A Reflection On The Limits Of Identity

Let us begin with a thought experiment.  Take an arbitrary young man at random from the population, let’s say his name is Jeff.  Now lets clone Jeff four times (assuming technology exists which allows us to perfectly replicate him) in such a way that these four doppelgangers are not only perfect copies of him, but they have his exact same brain, atom for atom.  This means that our clones aren’t simply identical genetically but they also have his exact same memories and modalities of thought.  What then do we have? Five “Jeffs”, or one Jeff split into five bodies?

Technically, given that these copies of Jeff are so exact they would all come to the same conclusions,if presented with the same scenario, each would individually carry out the same action simultaneously.  However, what if the five total Jeffs were each placed in different environments and subjected to different circumstances?  We as observers would have the capacity to differentiate between each Jeff given that they are all doing different things.  But does that mean that each Jeff then would no longer be Jeff in the sense of Jeff? That is to say just because we could discriminate between them, would that fundamentally define them each as inherently different beings?

The real question at the heart of this question is one of memory and identity.  How much of a role does memory play in defining us?  Does it define us, or do our decisions define us?  We can only make decisions based on circumstance, so are our identities really just a function of circumstance?  Well to some degree it is clear that the answer is a little smattering of everything, our identities do depend on circumstance, are tied to the decisions we make and how we arrive at them, as well as the memories we carry.  But lets push the boundaries further.

Pretend now there are only two Jeffs, each in a padded cell which prevents them from seeing outside.  There is nothing in the room save the two of them and the identical clothes they wear.  If both of them are indeed biologically identical then very interesting things are bound to occur. If the two begin facing each other then they likely would respond as if seeing one another in a mirror, whatever one tried to do, the other would immediately do forever and ever amen.  But if they were standing perpendicular to each other at the start then each Jeff would have a different initial perspective of reality.  One would see his brother in front of him, the other would see his brother to the side, given that all things are equal except their starting positions, it becomes a bit unclear what happens next.  They would both obviously know they weren’t the same being, or would they?  Would the fact that they had two different perspectives be enough for them to wrench apart separate identities and actions from one another? I don’t know, and that’s really scary to think about.

At least from a mathematical perspective the answer would be yes, the two Jeffs would not be trapped in an endless cycle of mirroring the same actions forever, the theory I’m invoking is Chaos Theory.  I don’t know if it is applicable within this context but all in all it suggests that if all things are equal with the exception of starting conditions, an observer can expect to see drastically different patterns of behavior between two or more compared objects.  If such a theory is applicable in this context, then it is clear, given sufficient time, each Jeff would exhibit behavior distinct from the other.  Does that however imply that each Jeff would then each have a distinct identity, or rather a “Jeff identity relative to that context?”  Still Jeff fundamentally, for if you swapped the position of each respective Jeff then you would observe the opposite Jeff carrying out the actions of the former Jeff?  All very mind boggling, but absolutely sexy to say it modestly.

Enough of this Jeff business I hear you say, and I agree, we have thoroughly worn out his name so for the remainder of this discourse I will do my best to abstain from using the name Jeff not counting this sentence.  So let’s shift gears slightly and ask a different question.  What if you had a young woman named Lisa and again, (you are an evil genius if I didn’t mention this before so that means you can use science to do anything) you find a way to transform her completely and totally into say,  Albert Einstein “in his prime.”

Well we sure as hell just shook things up didn’t we?  A whole host of questions and implications stem from this thought experiment.  Did we just “resurrect” Albert Einstein? What does it mean to be dead? Those are important questions but are outside the scope of this particular reflection.  Let’s focus on how we define a particular human being and their identity.  If we transform Lisa into Albert Einstein then what happened to Lisa?  Is Lisa’s identity defined as “The girl who was transformed into Albert Einstein”? Or is Lisa still Lisa but her identity simply leaves existence the moment she is transformed?

In a limited sense Lisa isn’t really gone in either scenario though because she is remembered by the people who know her.  Lisa’s identity is preserved in the sense that the person remembering her, remembers her by.  And what of Albert?  He could in theory visit his grave, what the heck is going on there?  Are we dealing with a false Albert? But how could he be? Lisa is now atomically identical to Albert.  Speculations abound in this corner of our problem…

I have one more quandary for you.  What happens if Lisa’s brain is transformed into Albert’s brain?  What are the implications of the identity?  Do we have Albert residing in the body of Lisa?  What role does the physical body play in our metaphysical identity?

Well, here I can only speculate…it seems as if we can only talk of Albert Einstein in terms of the entirety of Albert Einstein.  This means that we cannot divorce his consciousness from his body because Albert Einstein is defined as “Albert Einstein” because he is the mind plus body.  Lisa, while possessing the consciousness of Einstein would not have his body therefore relegating her to being a facsimile, of America’s favorite physicist.  But this leaves us with a loose end.  In this scenario, Lisa cannot be Lisa according to the axioms I have provided, for the vessel of Lisa lacks Lisa’s conscious mind (for the time being her body still holds Albert’s mind.)  The final implications are that we either have an entity with no identity, or an entity that posses an identity that is the summation of two parts, taken from distinct beings.

These are some of the thoughts that keep me up at night.

A Reflection on The Nature of Woman

Tell me as a man what do I owe you?

You who bear the pain of life, you whose gaze cleanses me, you who shakes and breaks my foundations.

You whose flesh is revered by sand, sun, and stone. Kissed and dyed and formed and shaped by the immortal eye of perfection.

You who I’ve broken, beaten, beguiled, and bullied.

You who I’ve stolen, subjected, and sundered.

You who I’ve demoted, degraded, and decimated.

I’ve crafted a culture that sacrifices and dehumanizes you for the sake of my entertainment. I’ve abused my charge to protect you and controlled you.

How do you still smile, how do you still strive?

What is your light, how does it glow?

I’ve placed you beneath me, climbed and soared, crushed and conquered all on your unbreakable back.

How do you always save me, redeem and receive me?

Tell me as a man what do I owe you?

Equal pay?

Equal opportunity for advancement?

Equal education?

Less twerk videos, plastic surgery, and sexual objectification?


That’s not too much to ask.

Happy International Women Day.