At this point in my life I expected to have it all figured out, or at least be over it…

Whatever ‘it’ is.

Life’s a journey, a search for meaning – the preacher preaches a eulogy, usually.

A message not of hope, but greatness.

He believes he’s dressing his congregation in potential, but they’re really draped in sorrow.

A generation disillusioned by expectations of exceptionalism.


Vanity of vanities of vanities of vanities!

Life sucks and then you die, and get to do it all again…


The meaningless hopefulness rushing around – grasping after productivity’s fleeting breath.

The drug of choice for the pious – living for the next whiff, we disregard the greatest least of these.

Come one come all, join in the spectacle of artificial immortality!

But what is immortality without life?

We did it – we saved them from the fiery pits.

If you think you were alone before, you’ll soon find yourself lost in this wasteland where we killed god, and buried him above ground, right next to the elephant in the room that holds twice as much value to our hide-like hearts.

We’ve revered the creation, and pissed on the Christ.

What beautiful emptiness is this?

MUTINY: a choice. A King who chose to stoop down to our level who chose to kill the king who stooped to our level so we could rise to his level, because I am the most important people in the universe.

Disguised by our wrath, we cut off our head – but a coin must have two sides.

Life sucks as a whore, and then you die.

And then you get to do it all over again…


He loves me still.

It’s different this time.



The martyr feeds the children
With blood and bone
And a life etched on stone

Seven seeds planted in East Germany
Living concrete
Dying to obey
Obeyed to death

Realistically – fifth to left
Anxious in seat
G to A to G
New York

Destruction. Uprising.
The last three ends.
Dawning of the idol..

Servant leader
Gain the high underground
Pews on the ceiling
No strained necks.

Soon, a call for dusk.
A chance.
Practical Piety.
Trump card.

Ethics: a manifest destiny.
41943: caught.
Tell tales
of wounds that heal.
Ending the beginning,