Giving In...

I should have given up by now

That's what the dark voices all say,

snickering in the shadows of my soul

They give me excuses to just quit

They've got reasons why its ok

They tell me I'd be better off

if I just cut my many loses,

forgot my absurd ambitions,

and accepted the inevitability

of entropy and failure

They tell me it's time

to just give in...

I could easily listen to them

They do make plenty of sense

If I were to just figure all the facts

and look at my life like an inventory

I'm sure I would be more wealthy

I'd be more respected and admired

I'd be closer to all the many things

that everyone is supposed to aspire

I'd be a much better statistic

than I 've been at being- me

I could easily accept this as truth

I really could just give in...

I would do it too

I really would give in

If I hadn't already given myself up

and signed my life away to these dreams 

that make life feel as if it were alive and lived

I truly would give in to anything else

if there really were anything else

but I already learned that lesson

I already gave in to all that before

I know what waits out there

in that world of facts and figures

I know what it considers truth

and I know I can't surrender 

what little illumination 

I sometimes find

to that dimness

I can't do that

-just give in

Not to that

Not yet

Never?

Never

-say never?

I'll say it now

I'll say it again

-Never, -Never

I've already given in

It's too late not to live

It's never too late to refuse

to give in to what gives nothing back

There will always be more time to give in

once there's nothing left for time to steal away

That's the best thing I think I could ever take

That's the only thing that it won't take away

The only life you can keep from death

is the life you live without giving in,

the life you force it to try and take

and laugh when it finally does

only to clutch at nothing

and scowl back at you

as your grave laughs

and the stone above

envies how you

refused to just

give in...

An Endnote Excerpt...

 101. I imagine DaVinci being reincarnated as if his profile had been saved and stuffed back into one of these false flesh platforms of the present age. At first, I find him binge watching all the historical, cultural, and engineering documentaries he can consume in hyper-real holographic detail to bring himself up to speed with this distant era. Then I see him setting up a plethora of profiles across an almost infinite array of media platforms so he can establish himself as an active avatar and solicit his services to the masses of the metaverse. I see him struggle to gain traction on Tweexer without being suspended, and consulting experts to increase his followships across all platforms after having posted several impossibly brilliant pics of completely new and astounding artworks which fail to trend at all. Then I see him suddenly gaining subscribers after designing a revolutionary new hyper-phallic shaped skyship which successfully launches a few brazen bazillionaires into low earth orbit and landing autonomously. I see him go on to establish himself as an influencer and produce podcasts where he greets guests who’s only talent is to manipulate the algorithms responsible for filtering traffic to increase their followships. I see him sitting with these open-mouth-breathers around a special new set which looks like some abhorrently inartistic adult-treehouse decked out in décor discovered resting atop a random heap of rubbish left next to a dumpster or a collection of contraband once held in conjunction with Ed Gein’s case, which actually is an upgrade from the previous set which looked like an over lit storage container disguised only by a back drop of cheap curtains with a neon-light-logo centered over a few unfunctional figments of furniture for them to cloister themselves into a clearly uncomfortable proximity to each other before beginning the show by passing bong hits of ayahuasca to each other or injecting heroic doses of NPD into the bases of their skulls. I see them settle in to discuss the details of the latest Corvid88 pandemic as it relates to the bubonic plague, their own preferences regarding diet and excrement regimens, the latest insipid news regarding in-identity politics, and all the bewildering behind the scenes stuff that comes with being such an important and visionary influencer and entertainer, with a few sporadic sidetracks interspersed throughout which demand a persona-free producer promptly pull up accompanying images using their expertise which all such impersonal producers accumulate over their years of dedication to the dark arts of GooGuile searches, basic microphone and camera management and placements, and essential social media manipulation tactics. Although, I predominantly see the former face of ingenuity reading promotional scripts as required by sponsors to promote their latest products which invariably promise to solve some problem which doesn’t even exist like undergarments designed specifically to keep genitals from dissolving in an unexpected downpour of acid rain or supplying some service which no one would ever want like an independent investigations service which provides psychological profiles on AI therapist to ensure your mental health is being properly manipulated by companies like BetterBrains. Several hours later, I see DaVinci, who has rebranded himself more succinctly as DeeVee, DahVeeCee, or something equally as embarrassing yet effective, -finally dissolving this session down into some penultimate pseudo-psychotic philosophical diatribe of incoherent stammering pleas for all of humanity to put peace and partying above all of our other misplaced ideals as a species. I see him tagging the end of this podcast with a redundant reminder to share, like, subscribe, and support all his other platforms and sponsors which of course include his paywalled OnlyCams, PornClub, and PayTreeGong accounts. In one final scene, I see him waiting for the analytic response to this latest podcast after having uploaded it into the void of YouzView’s ever expanding and irrelevant content cluttered kingdom where braindead dullards will wirehead-in to kill time and accent the ambience that is their own abysmal lives while perhaps cleaning their own overpriced and closet sized living compartments, or milling around aimlessly in the futility of some inane place of employment, or just gazing obliviously into the all-encompassing abyss which swells and swallows everything around them. At this point I have to look away from my own dark imaginings to avoid asking myself what they reveal about my own essence and world views, although I’d imagine they could be interpreted with equal satirical scrutiny.

A World In Need Of Such Attention...

 

The crickets and cicadas

Stridulate & serenade us

The coyotes & the owl

Their ethereal echoes howl 

The stars flickering at night

Pronounced against the dying light

Everything so far away and hiding

Each thing begging where residing

In dreams or delusions, still presiding

The sound of every need confiding

A whole world in desperate need

of attentions not received

This world cries out alone

in at least a trillion deafened tones

Each face searching to be seen

while staring blindly at some scene

Every product on every shelf

Born to draw all eyes and wealth

Every ad on every surface

Designed to distract unto one purpose

Are you hungry, could you eat

Don't even answer, buy a treat

Are you lonely or in need

Pay the price or wait and bleed

There's a world of objects screaming

To be seen and keep you dreaming

They all need someone to own

And they too seem so, all alone

Do you hear this drone of dollars

Will you answer the horrid hollers

 

See each profile, site, and post

Each pleading to be your host

Will you like, subscribe, and share

Won't you at least pretend to care

Every click on every page

Is this really how we engage

Are the responses ever sufficient

Are we to be present or omniscient

The world is in such need of attention

As if that's become the only mission

Can anything relax at all

Must everything sound a call

Have you ever been blissfully ignored

And left alone to your own accord

Have you ever attended to being alone

Leaving the world to plead on its own

Hear the world in all its screaming

See the desperate signals pleading

Does your silence seem anemic

Is your absence any less scenic

Or does the world go on unchanged

As if nothing's ever been rearranged

 

In your silence and this shade

Are new illuminations conveyed

Are you compelled to attend to life

And forget the pettiness of your strife

Do you seek to sooth those screaming

Do you wish to witness greater dreaming

Has this captured your attention

Do you have a newfound mission

 

Do worlds all remains the same

Do all desires feed one flame

Till the fires burn up everything

As we breathe the smoke in deep

And shelter souls we care to keep

Every scream against the void

Every whispering humanoid

Unto gods, consumers, & all others

Mothers, Fathers, Sisters, Brothers

We beg the heavens, hells, & earth

To see us here for what it's worth

Praying we might live forever

Or wishing we were just more clever

All we speak, pray, think, or are

In words that only go so far

Even with all eyes upon us

It all seems so, so, superfluous

Is the void which screams within

Or embedded everywhere we've been

Surely it can't be in all things

Crying out against their endings

That would warrant such attention

To too many things to ever mention

Where would we begin to focus

Could there be some starting locus

All these things in our dimension

A world in need of such attention

What is it we pay our mind to

What life-force do we attend to

In this world which cries eternal

Are eyes or tears more sempiternal

A world in need of such attention

Far beyond all comprehension

Screams of ancient competition

All declare their own contention

Why their cries deserve ascension

Into the empyrean of some mention

Above the clouds of all convention

Is there a realm without this pension

Or a world in need of such attention