Who put this crown upon our heads?

Us.

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.

Namaste.

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

Unfamiliar.

 

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.

Space-time

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

Space-time.

Oh, Sparklehorse…

The heart contains all pains,

And was kind enough to contain your whole life.

 

Sparklehorse,

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…

Reveries (Fresh Poem)

Do you remember that summer

On the coast

When we walked on grey pebbles

And you didn’t ever wear shoes

Preferring to develop calluses and wounds

And leak blood into the Pacific

 

Do you remember that summer we spent

Washing whale bones

And you tried to teach me

Arabic phrases?

I know your secret now

All those stolen tongues

 

We stood in place                                                      We ran into each wave

Watching the sunrise                                               and I held you under

Watching the sunset                                                 The current for too long

And when it vanished we                                        cause I never learned to say no

Dug up the shoreline                                                 and you called it refreshing,

To see what it left behind                                        offered to do the same for me

 

Do you remember how the car

Choked and coughed

When we forced it up that hill

The one with overgrown firs

And all the turnouts

To catch a glimpse of bathing deities

 

Do you remember that look on your father’s face

When I brought you home late

Smelling of beer and raspberry stains

In your hair, our only excuse

Was that we were both Leos

 

Do you remember that summer

We stood in place

Smelling of beer and raspberry stained

And you didn’t wear shoes

And made me say things like

Ana Bahebak Ya Amar

Cause I never learned to say no.