I’ll pretend I won’t be lonely

Looking at this blasted screen

Watching my idea of you —

The one you just present to me —

Acting like it’s reality

Then putting you in my fantasy

Man what a fucked society

No idea what Intimate means

I wonder if we ever knew

We’re only intimate with inanimate things

And that ain’t real intimacy

No This-Life possibility

For fear or love or joy or pain

But hey – at least you get to be

The Puppet Master – pull those strings

But He ain’t into the aforementioned things

He just sits behind your computer screen

Never has to reach a thing, only someone else’s screen

I’ll get specifically selected pieces of you

The ones He is controlling —

Carefully chosen words and phrases

Photographs that make you seem…well…

Exactly what you want to seem

And I am equally as guilty

God forbid we let the darkness in

Or let our baggage show

Or give the scars that seem so grim

A loving hand to hold


Better we just go on like this

Hiding behind inanimate things

Let our Delusions pretend they’re our Dreams

Cover the Truth that bursts from the seams

Reality’s made for a certain kind

A human strong enough to mix with Divine

And know she ain’t controlling shit

With her facebook posts and her twitter-twit

Close the machine, the technology

The Matrix-notion it’s gonna be like the movies

Snap the fuck out of it

Jump into Life

Yeah, it’s a bitch

But I swear to God it’s better to Risk

And the pool’s damn deep but come for a swim

Cause I, for one…

I’m getting in.


They all talk about that historic plane

That flew through the eye of the hurricane;

The brave pilot who faced that massive twister

Air and debris spinning like the Inception top

Crazily —

Teetering —

On the brink of sanity;

Or, perhaps…

Gone right on past?

It’s hard to tell at The Edge like that.

Either way, I have to say —

I ain’t no eye of the hurricane.

I am, instead, the air and debris –

The stuff that makes up that Wild Thing.


(Perhaps too occupied with”winning?”)

The ego fights so I go on spinning…

Round and round and round I go…

So close to the center

(So very far though!)

And I long to be the historic plane;

The brave pilot who pierced the peaceful center;

For I have long known the dangerous Exit

But tell me, pray, tell me:

Where do I enter?