Who put this crown upon our heads?


in failing to receive the recognition, the french-kissing of models and the chortles of bearded pipe-smoking ship captains we believe we rightly deserve, we’ve turned our hunt for verification to elsewhere, from the virtual world of poorly-paid casting couch porn stars and neckbearded glass-pipe smoking insomniacs. Note that we said verification. Our crowns are self made, we wear them so that our heads may sag and our necks break, we wear them to remind ourselves that being part of a generation of wanna-be’s and posers is nothing to be proud of, indeed is something to attempt to escape from as fast as possible. We wear them so that our bodies break long before our flimsy ego’s built upon years of being told “you can be whatever you want” do.

Every artistic compilation project must have some goal, some nirvana to reach towards. Ours is simple, submit, for your approval or loathing, our creations, so that you may judge/enjoy. Anyone can wear the crown of a Peachy King, anyone can submit to our oligarchic asses their magnum opus or works of lesser opus, All we ask is that you read, you write, you play, you create and you be some version of our cult’s ideal member.


Pantoums I Stole

I teach a creative writing course. I tasked my class with writing Pantoums or “found” poetry, where you lines from other people’s work to recompose a piece. I wrote two myself, using both prompts together. They suck, so they get to get posted here.


The Back Ups


When my mind is uncertain, my body decides

I laugh till I cry, I party all of the time

I’ve got them bad boy blues, baby

I need a spiritual cleansing.


I laugh till I cry, I party all of the time,

I don’t know what I’m gonna do

I need a spiritual cleansing

I like the in-betweens.


I don’t know what I’m gonna do

And there is someone out there just like me.

like the in-betweens,

I wanna contribute to the chaos.


There is someone out there just like me,

With them bad boy blues,

Wanting to contribute to the chaos.


And when my mind is uncertain, my body decides.




Take a chance, roll them bones

Yeah, try to make a dollar from the grave

To fame and fire, to dame and dandy

I’ve got nothing on my mind but you


Try to make a dollar from the grave,

I know you can see it in my eyes

I’ve got nothing on my mind but you

One-track mind, one-way street


I know you can see it in my eyes

Who knew a man’s fate was such a hard thing to find

One-track mind, one-way street

Here I come, bored and lazy, here I come, no dignity


Who knew a man’s fate was such a hard thing to find

To fame and fire, to dame and dandy,

Here I come, bored and lazy, here I come, no dignity,

Yea, take a chance, roll them bones.

Entry #23

Author’s Note: Call it a break in seasons. This entry took forever to spill out of me, but I wanted to do it right when I did it. I could easily delve into the debilitating nature of depression in this space, but I’d rather just let you know that I’m glad we’re still working on this project and I’m excited to see where we will continue to go with it. This story turned two years old on the 9th of this month. Seeing as how the tale began on the day of Halloween, I thought it fitting to publish this piece today. I hope you all are having a spooky and wonderful time.


Reese Continue reading

The Marriage of Samhain and Pomona (Old Poem)

A piece from this time last year. Little Halloween history poem for y’all…


The Marriage of Samhain and Pomona


I stumbled through all that fall foliage

To perform my duty as the last druid

And wed them before the full moon.


Ceremony aside, I aimed to find

A vampyre or witch to lie with

And send up magick sparks

Next to all those escaping bonfires.


Goal in mind, I was rather taken back

When asked to proceed to the bedding

And assist in some manner personal.


Samhain, brute he be

Wrapped me in his crimson arms

And asked this favor of me,

Bed Pomona in place of he.


She was too foreign a taste

A bitter little drink,

not what he wanted in a wife.


For her part, Samhain told me

This was her idea,

She did not want his stains on her robe

Nor the wild in her.


Thrice I declined, and thrice

They pushed and pulled,

Groping hands moving in waves


The moans of our lovemaking

Sent the beasts into a frenzy,

Such divinations I’ve never seen

As when Samhain forced Pomona on me.


They stuck an apple in my mouth

And a spit through my back,

Let a fire take the mattress


What a feast, at the midnight wedding

What beasts, my vampyre and witch

What release, this consumption of my flesh

What an end to the last druid priest.

Curate your feed

Something I’ve been thinking about lately is how essential it is, in today’s world, to control the opinions that you allow into your mind.  There are so many decently intelligent people out there who can express almost any idea with a modicum of intellectual gravity.  You’ll read it, feel a spark of passion, and believe them.

I know that there are many forces converging on each person, pressuring them to have certain opinions.  While we should strive to reconcile our opinions with others, please listen to your heart and also, share that opinion with people who are close to you.

I know it feels almost impossible to challenge political people, whether they are right wing or left wing.  It is also a dangerous thing to do because it can go so poorly that you walk away, having sat through a two-hour long political debate during what was supposed to be a nice holiday meal with your family.

However: once you’ve mastered your mind a bit.  Once you’ve learned how to meditate and you see thoughts less as things to indulge in, and more as sensations.  Once your heart begins to open up to the tragedies of this world.  Challenge yourself.

Embrace the difficult opinions, but simultaneously, if a view is hurting you too much…don’t be afraid of considering that it is simply too heavy to take it ultra-seriously.

The world is evolving

There is a feeling, sometimes, that modern society is about to dissolve back into some primordial soup.  Everything will become Mad Max, and we’ll revert back to “primitive” ways of being.  All of the aggression stored up online will pour out into the physical brutality of this new world.

But what if that isn’t the case?  What if the world is actually evolving?  Even though being born into the present age feels almost impossible – impossible, given the chances – and you assume that it only happened because this whole “advanced society thing” is cyclical and we’re bound to revert eventually…what if returning to the old world is actually simply impossible, for all of us?  The reverberations of the modern age won’t go away.

If things do revert after some kind of World War IV, those generations will be haunted by what was even if they’re fighting with sticks and stones.  So that new primitive landscape will still be irreversibly affected by what happened here.  In a way, we can still hear the croon of old, dead Martian civilizations when we glance up at that mysterious, Red dot.

Clearly you can flee from life, back into nature.  But only sort of.  And the most successful people find some kind of an equanimity with technology.  They figure out ways to escape into nature while still partaking in this place.

OK.  Here are some more cool ideas!  Let’s just get all of the fringe cool ideas out of my system.  What if hyper-advanced technology is already available?  But it requires advanced intelligence, so those of us who are too dull to see it (at the moment) can’t get it?  So in a sense, what we see out there – this world – is just a fringe world, given to us out of compassion because we are the ones who aren’t wise enough (yet) to get to the hyper-advanced-future-scape.  Woah dude!

A life…

Is full of activity.

Cuts slowly healing,

Stresses introduced and receding…

Friends appearing and disappearing and

Wonderful things coming and…


A walk through the cemetery makes it all too clear

What happens.

Lord knows what horrors occurred in every abandoned

Castle during its final days.


And some people die peaceful deaths

Surrounded by lovers.


While I turn memories into copies of copies,

So too does this world.

Visceral historical accounts become

Distant things impatiently memorized.


In the end,

All of reality comes crashing back in.


In the end,

We can’t keep the weather out of our house;

We can’t wear coats and pants and shoes outside;

Death rushes into us and destroys everything.


A human life is very precious.


There are so many possibilities.

There are wise people inviting us into their homes

Every evening;

And there’s endless opportunity for artists…


Best not take it too seriously, or lightly…


So much can be transmitted among people…

And how beautiful our own song is!

It’s clearest in early memories

When the world was still



When we could see the whole thing and premonition

What was about to come.

We heard the song as we were lead inside.


Maybe the wise can lead us back to that way

Of experiencing.

Space-time Pt. 2

Bear with me!

If it were so that,

When you gaze out into the night sky,

You were seeing everything without delay…

That is,

You were seeing the Universe in real-time,

And you weren’t seeing the old light of dead stars and such.

One can’t help but wonder

If this isn’t simply impossible

But moreover

Besides the point.


They say that

Due to the speed of light

Distant objects observed with the Hubble Space Telescope

Are old.

The light that reaches our eyes is old light,

And so as we look out into the universe,

We are also looking into the past.

We’re seeing stars from billions of years ago,

The light of which is only just-now reaching planet earth.

We can imagine, of course, a “true” version of distant objects,

Where the light reaching our eyes is up-to-date.


When I think about this, I imagine a traveler

Growing extremely weary and beginning to hallucinate –

And although the hallucinations are not true,

He does make it through the desert.

In a sense you can imagine that huge, intergalactic civilizations

Their communication would have to transcend this warping in some way.


Maybe there’s a way to ride it,

Or to send out objects along the crest.


Just as the sun bends space-time to create gravity,

So our position itself bends space-time to create our relative experience.

And you can’t help but wonder if there’s a way to hurry through

That distortion,

And hurry into a distant world.


Maybe we can build our spaceships to respect the dissonance,

And so they’ll easily skim the hyper-overlaps of incongruent


Oh, Sparklehorse…

The heart contains all pains,

And was kind enough to contain your whole life.



The music you sought to create

Was so special.


There’s room for casual

And all manner of creative expression…

But somehow you were more than that…

It’ll always be strange…


How all things are an eternity,

But some eternity is juicier than the rest…