Wanna Be Socrates, a poem

Dull, now babbles some

wanna-be Socrates.

A Plato of the non-

existent preverbal page.

An awkward stammer

and pause gone about

with forced emotion.

So forced that it has no force,

no power,

gone and now at rest,

deserving non of its fake praise.

Lofty lust, and more incoherent

babbles and rambles in the name

of some forgotten crackpot

pipe dream.

Again this “philosopher” speaks,

and the actual teacher wretches in the corner,

excess is the key word

of the wanna-be Socrates.

Perfection is a waste of time (a poem)

Perfection Is A Waste of Time

You can’t go to hell if you are already there,

And perfection is the death of art.

The pursuit of perfection,

Is the birth of mediocrity.

Mediocrity can be no one’s muse.

But perfection is tedium,

Soulless and tedious.

These words to the wordsmith,

are trivial repetitive garbage.

Soul is tedious,

And perfection a waste of time.

Perfection is tedium,

it is mediocrity.

Perfection is the death of originality.


Three Napkins I Scribbled My Soul On

Recently as I was filing my chaotic pile of notes that clog my writing desk I came across three napkins with sporadic red sharpie on it. I remembered that last summer I was at a huge party to see a friend’s band. In a fit of something I have yet been able to describe with words I wrote down this stream of consciousness on the materials available to me, which as I said were a sharpie and napkins. I read the gibberish on them and decided that they offer a good look into what is going on in my head, constantly, all the time, every day. Even at a super fun raging party filled with stuff I like.

What is the point of all this,

What am I doing here?

What is the point of these kinds of gatherings,

Is there even one?

Perhaps that’s the point.

The goal.

The goal is to have no goal, no aim.

Just release.



Why am I so deep in my own head?

Why can’t it just shut off

And just be tonight?

Probably the weed?

Who care, it

Doesn’t matter.

I am enjoying this.

I am enjoying streaming the

River that is my thought

My consciousness

Onto these sheets of scrap.

Who cares, do what you love,

Fuck the rest.


Now there is a word that is bastardized by the right.

That is what reactionaries do.

They just take words.


Words that matter, words that are important,

Words WE need.

and they bastardize them.

This is what went on in my head at a fun party, full of drinks and weed and good friends, yet this is what was rushing through my mind. Maybe it was just the effects of being so goddamn crossfaded that night, but I don’t think it was, because even without liquor or weed in my system this is what is constantly ringing in my intuition’s ear. This is what my mind is doing all day, every day, without stopping.

The Meaning of Meaning

The question seems like a cliché in our jaded post modern millenial world;

“What is the meaning of life?”

But I put forth an alternative question, an expansion on the semantics of the words above.

I.e., “What is the meaning of meaning?”

A seemingly simple question if we stick to the absolute literal, that is the typical Webster’s or Oxford dictionary definition of the word “meaning,” but less so when we elaborate on the inherant absences of what we mean by the word “meaning.”

Yes, I know this sounds like a Bill Clinton redox on what “is, is?” but this is not some pretentious use of rhetoric to dodge questions equivilant to what might as well have been locker room talk.  

Essentially I am asking the question that when we do in fact ask, “What is the meaning of life?”  are we assuming that the definition of the word “meaning” is inherant or not?  Is the meaning of “meaning” all encompassing and do we ask the question assuming so?

And like Socrates was famous for, I leave this question unanswered to you all, to assure our minds carry on, even frustratingly so.  😉

Dare I say What God is?  or Losing My Religion (Millenial Remix)

Dare I say what god is?
Well as a poet and a self-inclined philosopher, of course I do.
I believe in god, but as a concept. There has never been any society or culture since the beginning of humankind that did not have a word and concept for what is god.  
With that said, you may ask if I believe in a physical god, or even an afterlife?
No, but I wouldn’t spurn someone’s belief in either as long as they live as a good person and use their belief to better themselves and not oppress other’s individuality.
And with that said, further I must decree I am neither atheist nor christian, I do not feel the depth of my beliefs can be summed up in one simple label of any kind. And here is the other thing, I am not the only one who is this way.  
Millennials are the least religious generation alive today, and the reason is as I stated above. What is one label, one trivial definition for meaning, life, or god, to anyone but the shallow?  
The answer is nothing, it is nothing to people like me, nothing.