saved by the fire

This is going to be my lullaby, the way I end and start the night. Live on stage with you my followers. This is the live on stage Lit Generation. In the center of myself looks like the blue center of a log fire, but my desires run like prairie fires, but still is the Vestal Fire burning in sub-atomic unknown spaces; pure impurity. I am in pieces scattered all around this cabin. The woods are black and the bugs are winding down for winter—I’m not. I have peanut butter and enough tea to last long enough to get to my next. All around the woods I have wood piles. Not just firewood I have stacks of building materials and metal. I have rice, frozen raccoon meat and some chicken breasts I’m gonna have to cook real good cause they are going rancid in the freezer. I have baking soda, soap and bleach. Really that is all about a person needs to survive in the woods which is good for me since its about all I have...I do have other things I suppose, but whatever they are I assure in some way they are as much a liability as an advantage, most things are burdens and are unnecessary even my shotgun—any person living in the woods should be able to catch game without a gun. Really the assets I am most focused on do not exist in the material reality known as the physical world. The things I’m most focused on are invisible and can not be seen or verified with the human eye and therefore are called abstract concepts, but call them whatever you want. I will refer to them as all sorts of words and it won’t be very consistent. I think a good place to start in this conversation might be to bring up what you think and I think is. I don’t know if we agree about what is or what isn’t in this very world at this very moment? If aliens came to earth and studied us they would see us being really primitive to not have the same outlook on our situation. I think, I think they wouldn’t be understand why one person lives believing one thing and someone else believing another while the truth is completely different. I am ashamed to be part of the human race and feel let down by my race. I want to be abducted by extraterrestrials and introduced into their race. I want to be studied as a prototype for a new form of life because they love how cool I am. It’s absurd to me what goes on in the world and how unbearable it is to think about and ponder about myself as being part of it. Still I go on and I don’t know why, each instant I take a dive into the unknown next moment. But right now I got to burn out. Stay tuned for the Lit Generation, live on stage right here on Rattlesnake Hill, fueled by the Vestal Fire.

Tree

There is a demon inside me that sits behind a tree—sits behind humiliations and stares at me. I stand in animated anticipation amongst boring fuck heads, cunts, stool pigeons and leaches—I stand in cattle piss around large pieces of asphalt, galvanized rink-shank nails in the yellow mud, green shit and red blood.

One night I was gazing at the stars through moonlight—suddenly I became lucid with thoughts of another reality. I couldn’t function in society very much and I didn’t try. I was mesmerized—and this wasn’t drama.

Then one day I was gazing at the sun through the blue skies, my mind (((rang))) with energy and I connected with the trees and weeds and beasts—we told each other to all be free, we preached, we fought and bleed and all walked away in the end.

Upon a sunset and a belt of clouds was a purple hue—the moon was arriving soon. All along the prairie grass, grazing cattle and their manure. There was a stillness that was aliveness and the end meant new beginnings and the indigo and lavender tinted everything else.

I saw hundreds and millions of angles watching over me in stars that night, twinkling like divine smiles—but I know that demon behind the tree is inside me—sitting, starring at me both day and night.