Night and Day in perfect symmetry, light in ascendancy. Spring in the northern hemisphere. Feeling the vernal substance of today, finding my own balance within the great movement of all things. 

[The atmosphere is thick with change, a precipitation of new opportunities will soon trickle down. Even storm clouds will usher in the flowers.]


Good morning Sun, agent of conciousness, greeter of my awakening. Casting the Earth in beauty and rendering all things visually bubbly, soaked in a bath of light. Bequeathing the world to me through the retina, one particle at a time. Have an amazing day. Live and love mightily, while you’re still able. Madd, fulfilling, indefatigable LOVE.

-Diane Ackerman, A Cosmic Pastoral



“Ok so I walk into a bar with some buddies, and I go to order a drink. Before I can say anything, the bartender looks at me and goes:

‘What is that and why is it in my bar?’

He’s pointing to my suitcase full of thousands and thousands of unopened flowers. So I tell him: ‘These are just… my buds. They won’t be any trouble, they only drink water.’

He replied, ‘I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to leaf.’

That was…


-Black Milk Clothing💚


Find me mining platinum from asteroids like Deep Space Industries. They say, “the harvest of space will be the biggest industrial transformation in human history.” Launch me up on that orbital quest, I’ll be the best dressed with my tool vest. Prospector of rare earth metals, separating them from the pebbles with a full-scale analysis on the molecular level.

Thinking space travel seems like a faraway trip, I lean back and fine tune my grip, adjust the strap on my Oculus Rift. A uniform static electric charge in the dark, then ready, set, Doppler Shift to a second life landing strip. Greeted by a parade of otherworldly images. Static-faced straight lacers paving the way for the fife players. A dunk tank of lizard-skinned wisemen drowning in a mini-sea of rusty tins and scuba fins. Horses whinny as I pass a penny to the weasel, pop goes that painted easel on which this fantasy is implanted. Dance, monkey, dance. Feel the puppeteers cold hand up my pants. 

Put your phone away, stop taping me. I refrain from being your Where’s Waldo honoree. I can eat all the vitamin D that I please but never escape the anxiety our dystopian society provided me. Maybe my version of reality (the entire history of me) will be saved on a disk and replayed for bionic kids to provide them with an example of how ‘regular’ humans lived. 

Reflections in a black mirror absorb all light. The growth of technology remains mechanically unobstructed, like wingless flight. So the question is posed: am I real or just a brain-in-a-vat? Sentient, or hooked up to a supercomputer running thru this life-like maze, just a common lab rat? 

Anyone can write rhymes, yet depending to whom the mic is handed, they could penetrate your head like a putrescent tuna sandwich. No mayo.