Backmasking

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Kids,

let me set the record straight

about “rock-n-roll” music.

It is an instrument

of evil-

a tool of demons,

devils,

and those who serve them.

It will rot your brain,

morally bankrupt you,

and turn you into a pawn

of satanists.

Don’t panic,

don’t “turn on,

tune in,

and drop out,”

and don’t you dare buy another album.

“It’s not all bad,”

you might be saying to yourself,

but you’d be wrong,

and here’s why.

The devil is clever,

he hides his demands,

in the music in two ways.

1) He has his messengers carry out

their acts of debauchery in real life,

instead of talking about it.

Monkey see, monkey do.

2) They hide their messages in their songs,

and it’s as simple as listening

playing the track

backwards,

to reveal their evil intent.

You can beat the Devil,

just keep your wits about you.

Kids,

why can’t you listen to nice music?

Omissions

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Without “you,”

the phrase “you don’t talk to me anymore”

demands an entirely different kind

of response.

“All you can eat, kids free”

Lacks some needed nuance,

Without the comma.

Although synonymous

An “I don’t know,”

Can create a lot less drama,

Than a shrug and a grunt.

Just one tiny piece in a conversation

Is key

In understanding

Misinformation.

You may fill in the blanks,

With what you want to see,

Or miss the forest for the trees,

In making assumptions.

Sometimes you can say everything

You need to say

By not saying anything.

Direct-to-Video

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Purgatory can be found on Earth,

In thrift stores,

bargain bins,

And supermarkets.

Names and faces,

Some famous,

Some strangers,

Etched forever into

Sequels no one asked for,

To movies no one’s heard of,

Residing in everyday

Neighborhood haunts.

Horrifically corny schlock,

Poorly-written nature docs,

For children,

And TV movies that aired once.

No one makes something,

That no one is supposed to see,

But you wonder

whether these people

are where they want to be,

When you can buy half their filmography

for five dollars

and get one for free.

But maybe this is their dream,

To do what they love doing,

Make scenes,

And be seen,

Without being heard of.

Those souls are in my thoughts

For now.

Plasmids

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Genes generated,

as standalone

updates and patches,

to be mixed-and-matched,

and exchanged among clones.

“Enclosed,

you will find,

my latest experiment.

After tinkering with my code,

I’ve increased recalcitrance,

By twofold.”

You scratch my back,

I’ll scratch yours.

Even bacteria

can do business,

they innovate,

compete,

consume,

and coordinate,

under our noses.

I’m Being Published!

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The fine folks at Z Publishing House have selected my poem I Hope you Find What You’re Looking for to be published in their compilation “New Jersey’s Emerging Poets!”

I’m very excited and thankful, and wanted to share the link with my followers here, which you can find below.

http://www.zpublishinghouse.com?rfsn=940491.a8f6e6

Stay tuned for a new poem today, if you’re into that sort of thing…

Entropy

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Things rarely coincide,

With our colorful graphs,

Hopeful expectations,

measured projections

And detailed guides.

There is truly evil,

And bright spots to counter it,

And most know the typical script,

To this classic conflict,

Up to its denouement.

But change the variables,

To the triumph of chaos

Over order,

And few fear anything more.

Yet in this life,

The single worst bet one can make,

Is that everything will become predictable,

And clinical.

That with time’s inevitable,

Inescapable lapse,

That the house will never one day

collapse.

We won’t relive the past,

Though things can relapse,

Because with the march of time,

We can revisit where we’ve been,

But we cannot become again.

We exit states of high concentration,

To return to areas of low,

Momentum erodes,

Into stillness,

With building pressure,

Comes a sometimes violent

Release.

Order decays

Into disarray,

Unless you’re there to pick up the pieces.

DECLASSIFIED: Vestigial Structures

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Click here to read the original poem.

Life can make a person feel dreadfully small.

The very act of realizing that your body is a number of well-refined subsystems acting in accordance with one another is just one of them, and one I find myself drawn to every so often.

So I may be, in essence, a machine but how finely-tuned? How well-oiled?

I function, with some minor hiccups here and there. But I’m only human, and humankind is not evolution’s crowning achievement.

Evolution is not necessarily “survival of the fittest.” Evolution is throwing things at the wall to see what sticks. It is a game of inches; it’s about finding the rules of survival and bending them into a pretzel. It’s about how heavily you can game the system.

Humans have some kinks to work out, for sure. Our minds are powerful and flexible, but there are vestiges of bygone eras long since past encoded in the way we organize ourselves (I.E. tribalism), and process the world.

No human alive NEEDS their tonsils or their tailbones. But they also don’t impede the way we go about or business enough to be dealt with by the drip, drip, drip of natural selection.

But we have what we’ve got, regardless of our ability to use it.

This is what inspired me to write Vestigial Structures. Those bits of me left over from when I definitely wasn’t human.