Month: January 2021

Poems

Faux Paella

There’s something called a faux paella.
I make it when nobody’s looking.
I take my girlfriend down to the beach.
Yeah yeah yeah.
The faux paella . . . fuh fuh fuh,
faux paella!

It sits on a window seal in a dish.
The cops on the street look up at it.
The encyclopedia doesn’t dare speak of it.
The faux paella.

Now after it’s been cooked the process is finished.
You fake what’s been done in a pan – in a pot.
The priest is restrained and also well beaten.
O holy lake of fire.
The Holy Spirit jumps up out of it.
Toss it in an oven in between breathing.
Some people spill it on the beach.
Faux paella.
Yeah yeah yeah.
Faux paella!

The police are here to arrest all of you.
Faux paella!
Oh yes, faux paella!

I gnash my teeth and bash out windows.
Oh my Lord,
not again, not in my friend’s car,
the bombs are loud, the smoke is blue.
The faux paella!

News of a new war.
The faux paella!
The economy’s not doing good.
That’s the faux paella!
Arm the national police force
with the faux paella.

The faux paella . . . fuh fuh fuh,
faux paella!

Poems

The Woods

The woods will ruin a lesser man.
They’re evil.
Teeming with creatures.
Teeming with whispers.
The woods carry cold,
hold onto cold,
but prosper insects in summer.
They’re everywhere;
the scorpions,
ticks,
centipedes.
You can’t lay down or relax
in the neverending mess of
leaves, dust, twigs, and pebbles.

Though the arms of the trees
bring you the moon.
Their dead warm your house,
build your pubs and tables.
Their leaves give you breath.

The woods are obstacles and evil to men.
They need to be destroyed
for new neighborhoods to be built.
Comfortable and romantic to women.
There for vacations and fires.
They are scary and alluring to children.
Home to wizards, witches, and faeries.

COMMENTARY

I live in a house on a hill, surrounded by tens of acres of thick woods. Mostly gnarled old oak trees, with an occasional pine, and some brambly trees like mulberry. The oak trees are interesting in their variability. Some are old, falling apart and decaying right before your eyes. Some are strong, sound, beaming, sociable and communal. Others, just years old, beginning their development and pining for the sky and moonlight. The woods are at once alluring, magical, enveloping, consuming, scary, and populated with a trillion spirits and life forms. They have the power to get into your psyche and expand your perspective on life, time, and existence, but also unsettle your deepest fears. I always feel I have been given something when I go into the woods and come back out. In a sense — the woods are psychedelic.

And yet many men (those of the testosterone sex) approach the woods as something to conquer, remove, and use for utility. I find this unfortunate, and something that comes from places of fear, insecurity, immaturity, and insignificance… nearly all evil and destruction of the testosterone male derives out of his struggle with insignificance. It originates in the importance, the stress, the need to perform his biological “duties” and the fear of those failures. Though his deepest fragility resides in his perceived reality of cosmic insignificance — which being a lone wolf (“my way or the highway”, “my family”, “my home”) he has failed to reconcile with the continuity of everything. And the woods; the woods are quite the opposite of this.

Trees are the guardians of Earth and our closest metaphor of the nature of the Cosmos. Our teachers. Our highest forms of life here.

Poems

The Femme Templar

To have my face
between your legs

is to give back to the world
all that has gone wrong with it.

It is to make a self-disolving offering
to the spirit of the feminine
that has been kidnapped, taken away,
and not allowed to prosper and bloom
upon this sorely misled planet.

It is to sit there in a body of masculinity
on my knees
at the base of all that is right and good
with civilization,

to repent and make the prayer in flesh for a new era,

to say how much I utterly love you
and the way that your body tastes down there,

to ask for a better way of living,
to taste the essence of this promise.

Uncategorized

Let Us Go Watch

Let us go watch while

the long rays of sunset

draw its light out

into the woods.

Made celebrants of darkness.

Life everlasting.

Here in this moment.

But also always all around.

Let those photons

bend our corporeal presence

to something angelic,

something where forgetfulness

and remembrance

is humbled by insignificance

of awe.

I’ll take tea with her,

in the club of existential poets.

Make me out of stars, fair father.

Tell me I am queer, dear weird,

dear mother.

Oh god, mothers are always

left apologizing.

God damn left handedness.

Let the day turn.

The trees stand.

Vines grown gnarled and green.

Trees reach out.

And the light will find its way.

Books closed and written

in the stupidity

of Earthling humans.

And night borne of morning words.

That old cellular way of consciousness.

Love and radiation.

Poems

Lovers Made Of Crystal Dust

In the town of Meldwaen
the agenda drifts out to sea.
It is raining this afternoon,
I pull my semened penis from my blanket.

The houses are made of stone and sand.
You can smell it from the windows burning,
garlic, and oil, and flowers.

The agenda sits on a shelf
by a kitchen-fire burning,
flames are laughter and humanity.

One male rolls the flour of rice bread.
Two females look at each other.
One has wrinkles from the sides of her eyes.
The houses are made of sand and stone.
No one is a servant. All of these are lovers.

Only the male goes to stare upon the sea
alone
when the evening stars are rising
and breathes.
His bones are made of sand and stone.

Poems

The Corn In Purgatory

It was 2 weeks ago
that I bought this jumbo bag of corn chips.

And in that time…

I’ve cried about 7 times,
most of them gently.
Once, sitting on my back porch,
looking into the woods,
still feeling an unending love for my cat Pinky
who passed away 5 years ago.

I had sex with 2 women and 1 man in that time.

Got drunk 6 times.

Wrote 5 poems and 2 songs and edited some fiction.

Started a new job that is mentally draining.

Threw a birthday party for Pinky’s brother, Blue.

Made 2 new good friends.

Saw a couple old friends I hadn’t seen since
the pandemic started.

Had crème brûlée for breakfast twice.

Ate pickles and olives for dinner once.

Had an upsetting conversation with my mother.

Continued falling in love with a woman
I’ve lusted, loved, and respected for 22 years.

And so I sit here on a Saturday morning
with a beer
and a near empty jumbo bag of corn chips
impressed these chips have lasted me this long
and seen me through so much.

Poems

From Oak Grove To Field

Sometimes
I go from the oak grove
into the light.

The moonlight over the field
of tallgrass.

As a prayer.
To be filled.
Felt, fallen, bathed, and cast.
All in one moment.

Only something
non-human
could do that.

I’m not even sure
I can grasp it.
I just do. I try to live.

Literally, the human being.

While there is so much
simultaneously
happening alongside being,
too dimensional for beingness.

Like I said; a prayer.

Some kind of ionization.
Something electromagnetic.

Into minimal light.
Oak tree stark winter neuronal limbs
reaching.
Into a vast, vast ocean:
        the calculus of consciousness
        Physicists have yet to decipher.
Though my heart drives me to pray,
to give thanks to the eternal moment.

The thing recognizing itself.

Poems

Purity Of Body

The purity of your body
conforms to so many advertised standards
of women.
Well, white women, crystalline,
Anglified, Germanic women.
It makes my dick work…
…in the way that adults need their dick to work,
at least when they’ve got to that age
when their dick sometimes has issues working.
I mean, adult men.
I’m not sure about the dicks of women.
Don’t discount they certainly have one,
in some way,
I just don’t know anything about how
those things might work.
I wish I did.
I wish what I’ve written here
about women having dicks
wasn’t considered blasphemy by four, to five
of the world’s major mainstream religions.
But I believe it is.
This is one way that I’m a believer.
I believe these religions
present frameworks to people
for how they should or shouldn’t think.
And so you can’t believe that women have dicks.

Poems

Economy Of Scales

Clive got a new car.

He's eating a ham sandwich inside of it.

They forgot to put on the mustard and mayonnaise.

Those crazy kids.
Poems

Announcing KyrumFoot (and a little about soccer on another planet)

Opening up my fantasy-fiction writing to the world, a “coming soon” post. Read and learn more 😉

KyrumFoot

Hello World, Soccer Fans, And Fantasy Readers

For 30 years I’ve held an alternate world in my head. Well, mostly in my head. Bits of it have slipped out here and there. With modern civilization on the verge of falling apart, I figure now is as good a time as any to share the stories of this world, its model of civilization, and its ways of liberation – true liberation. Seems like we might be able to learn a thing or two in these areas. Let’s start first with how this world came into being…

Background & Beginnings

Originating from a 7th grade geological mapping project (thank you Mrs. Perrin), the land of Kyrum was launched on paper and in my imagination in the Spring of 1990. Heavily influenced from my later childhood obsession with Irish and British history and culture, I named cities and places in Kyrum from towns…

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