Hypothesis

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Most of our reason go unconsidered. We don’t stop to question ‘why?’ We come up with an answer and roll with it. When the only true answer can be discovered through search, not manufactured.

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For a second in space time, wrapping my spaced mind around disgraced slime
Faced with stress I hide my face, lies, and chase distracting mistakes, stand idle in place
Might faint, fried, just to cry under my face
The sound is too loud to shout it out of the crowd so drown it down
Won’t wait a few seconds after pulling the pin to toss the damn thing
Take cover and hope my ears don’t ring

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Mara's Book

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As humans we hide. We avoid facing our problems and pretend everything ceased existing.
Buried in our vices.
A poem

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Shady tree
Knees pulled up
Book in hand
Quiet
External static
The adventures of a manic hero
Buried in the pages for ages
Battling mages and dragons
Stopping havoc from passing
Adored by all as it is
But the portal back home
It’s closing
Been dozing for way too long
The demons from the frozen homeland
Where evil roams much to often
If the gate shuts and there’s no luck
It’d be easy to get stuck
Fine and dandy
To get away from the madness
No one will miss me

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The Designer

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The mind of a creator is a place where magic and tragedies are one and the same.
Whatever happens happens when they take their work seriously.
And the one’s that don’t get left behind.

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Much on the plate to eat. This and that. The want to eat it all while faced with the impossibility. Could take a bite of each thing just to get a taste, but not one thing would get finished.

Building glass towers…

Running out. The bomb is ticking and there is not time to sit and think of how to stop it. It’s time to act and make a move. To feel like something was attempted. So that if the bomb goes off it feels like at least the best was tried tried. In case one thing doesn’t defuse the it, it should all be considered. Lives are at risk and being helpless is not an option.

Sculpting away at the block…

This doesn’t belong here. Being capable of correcting this error makes it a duty. The weight of when it’s right or wrong to make a move is overwhelming. What if it’s the wrong call? What if the decisions have the capacity to…

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In Bed With Arthur

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Arthur, after having liberated the evil from the corrupt family, was once again caught by the corrupt police and returned to his prison. The cage where they accuse him of insanity. He knows the bad guys don’t win. And he’s the hero of the story, so he will not lose.

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Eyes open, I’m in bed
Six years, been like I’m dead
Tech sticking from my head
Strapped, chain down
Dark room, no sound
Mind rush, go round
Fear, possessed now
No exit near while held down
Tears, the scream bounce around
Leering gaze from the shadows of the room
A crooked grin, hazy, sharp teeth, it’s hungry too
An abomination, with no hesitation it…

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To Win The Fight

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Martial arts. The performance of the brutes. A poem of fighting based on fighter.

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A fluid dance. The impact of precision. Movements morph from one to the other unforgiving, uninterrupted. Sequenced by desire and sought out by need. Survival in the form of elegance. Delicate and subtle shifts settle fractional inch debts with force. Bruised souls crumble when missed tipped toed landing heels out standing sore. Beautiful the twirl. The skirt. The umbrella. The dip, the hop. Shields to stop reception. Only the hurt happens without intention.

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Poker Crown in School

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Life is filled with ups and downs. Having the bravery and confidence to face all those moments equally will result in a fruitful future filled with learning and accomplishments.
Jack gives his thoughts in this poem.

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Patience is being tested
Straight aces on the table
Royal flush out of multiple choices
Pure crowned blood
Feeling able to take all the chips
4.0 mil stashed in the castle
Freshly dipped and gold plated
Playing the game is not a hassle
Cards in my hands
No class clown telling jokes to jesters now
Passing grade A performance
The brightest of Knights
Strokes of the lance questioned
Ready to fight once mentioned
Giving my…

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Why?

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Feeling closed inside but unable to stop the strive.
This lyrical poem shows Jack’s fight and what he might do given the try.

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Do I feel weak?

Is it I refuse to speak of how my thoughts are bleak
Shriek inside, seek relief, heart dry dead mounted on a cross, I’m so fucking lost
But I refuse to think ‘cause I’ll sink into a slump and shrink
Lumps stuck in my throat, I’ll begin to choke, start feeling cold
Reckless and out of control but I won’t let go ‘cause there’s no telling where this car’ll go
It’s nowhere any of us would want to know
Obsessed with little regrets, don’t believe in hope
Lie to myself, “I’m the best,” “Not a mess,” “I can do this, though.”
Infest my mind with screaming voices testing me
Deafening noises
Definite poison
Stay poised when the moment is pointing three fingers back as I fade to black
In the middle of a heart attack that…

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Inner Demons

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With a crumbling country we face the biggest Social-Political divide since the civil war.
This Lyrical Poem tells Jack’s take and much more.

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There’s something innocent in thought
Theories of what’s not caught in the web
Vanish to the back
Knotted after tied in the hot headed
Hard to not get in bed
Wedded to the beliefs of the dead when its fed daily
But instead what we mean seems to flee us
Jesus died for no reason, see us
Beating, mistreating each other even when we don’t mean to
We can’t help, we’re helpless and selfish
Hope for better version of ourselves to shuffle through
So we stop hurting each other to do the things we want to do
But it’s senseless, we can’t stop even if we wanted
It’s who we are, it’s who we’ve been, it’s who we’ll be
The monsters we don’t acknowledge
Degrees wasted from college
Knowledge lost at every turn, at all costs
Lodged in our souls the demons we hope don’t grow
Ignoring them, we don’t know
They’re slowly taking control
Blinding our sight, ruining our lives
Driving the ride down the hill with the lights off
While we’re hopped on pills denying its part of us
Fighting to destroy the world we’re tried to build
Darkness we’ve tried to conceal reveals itself to have always been real as hell
A president that won’t chill but stays cold
Bold messenger birds deliver blue messages which hurt the innocent youth, the immigrant too
We don’t know what to do
Media buries the truth and we just believe what they want us to
Pin us against one another because we don’t bother to fact check each other
We’re monsters just like our four fathers

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Voiceless Virtual Rage

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As the internet continues to behave as the trashcan where we throw our opinions our collapse becomes more obvious from a distance.

Jack vents in this angered piece.
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Many of us exist in a perpetual denial of our own design. Screaming at each other, it’s unclear if its for change or to disperse the pint up energy. Casting blame in every direction of what we feel most guilty of. Unable to control these impulses.

And we continue, and continue, and continue, and nothing ever changes.

The ever increasing rage of society which began with the children which felt neglected and voiceless, like a plague contagion spread to the adults and the elderly.
But it’s never real. Our virtual personas are the monsters. In person, we’re too coward to make the same stands, but behind the safety of our electronics we find it justified to diminish the life of another. Because they aren’t real. Because we’ve never met them.
Enlightened or not. With reason or not. We believe we are justified in a pursuit. The world must know what we know, and believe what we believe the way we believe it. Because we believe it.

We’re unable to stop. It’s who we’ve become. The pause button was lost when we gave up on developing our voices in person and now even the elderly behave like children, simply trying to disperse this brokenness we’ve been handed.

There’s no fix in sight and the rain clouds will make it over the hills soon. They’re coming our way. We’ve never seen an umbrella so there is no protection. We’re stuck screaming.

It’s what we do. We point fingers here, and…

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The Great Subtraction

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Kids in cages.
A Poem.

45 is smaller than 0.

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I’m going to flip the shit if they crack another motherfucking whip
Can’t handle it when I can’t spit
Rambling blazed for days
Holding a fucking clip
Shit stays the same way
It’s making me sick
Staring down barrels drunk
Like we’re outta luck
In stasis sterile faces that won’t quit
Cages mistake small kids
Taken away
They can’t be seen
It seems history repeats it’s scenes
Screams don’t stop the suit’s schemes
We should be ashamed
Turn the cheek and sneak away
Cell phone in hand
Selfies behind screens
Eyes on ‘em like laser beams
Hit record on that cam
Life the video game
It’s our mask while we hide in the dark
We’re Batman
All going insane
Yelling the same phrases night and day
No response
It’s like that
No one listens and things don’t change
Deranged, we keep playing the same way
Won’t fight back
Maybe someone brave will stand and save the day
But every time we call the hero someone ends up shot
It’ll happen until we’re down to zero
The Great Subtraction in action
This extinction event is meant so we can’t repent
When the end comes through
The end meant for those that won’t do
What they want us to do
The way they want us to
That’s just for me and you

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Static Breeze

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In this short poem Jack attempts to express his mental prison to the reader.

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Bird watching from inside a cage is no fun
All the flight possible is witnessed with our own two eyes
All while bound behind bars, the cage door open
What fun is flight alone?
What fun is gliding the wind without a flock?
There’s no point in leaving the cage
But staying inside no flight is possible
Having clipped wings might make it easier
But not all caged birds learn to sing
Iron bars become the norm
Comfort the enemy
The rainbows never come visit
Neither do the rain clouds
A bird that learns to hum a fallen soldiers honor
It needs no more than another fallen soldier
Is this its purpose?
What good are wings on a corpse?

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Clock is Slowing Down

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A short poem about the current broken state of society.

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Alright
We're all crooked, the end
We're all playing the victim refuse to sit down before the screen loud
The webbed spaceship, dead, faceless, anonymous and tasteless posting racist shit
Our thoughts are flung out into the digital crowd
The matrix, no Neo will save us now
Hoping they'll be proud we're pretending we know what we're talking about
How we feel about left or right
The red/blue pill fight stands whether day and night
Ignorance within us shines its dim light
Not quite the bright we had in sight
Machines take over in the middle of our blind plight
The sky is the limit, but we're too scared to take…

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Closed Off

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In this piece, Jack reflects on his life and his craft

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Trying too hard
Not getting too far
The gas in this car is going empty
The pen running out of ink
I'll miss my thoughts if I blink
Closed off
Can't think
But I can talk mad shit
Spit real quick sick lines
Slick rhymes
But they don't mean shit
They're a waste of time
The words don't feel mine
They feel like I'm committing a crime
Against my insides
While they're dying caged
The blind rage I'm flung into lingers for…

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Drained

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A short poem about friends becoming distant as we age.

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Memories of the “used to know”
Left turn into alone
Stamping the clock draws a line
The steam whistle of separation
Same place to different faces
Different time the same reasons
Another wall to drill through
Ten now
Still not through the first
The tool’s battery died
More rains from heaven
A fortress of isolation
No energy for the cord
No power for effort
Drained trying to not get buried
Not get forgotten

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Mourning Freedom Chapter 5: Acceptance

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Acceptance is part of the patient process of winning. Something only those oppressed need to worry about. For the oppressor won’t live long.
Jack shares his thoughts in this poem.

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The pendulum swing at its height
A return is in sight
We might have lost the fight
But that was game one
We ain’t done
Second game is time, son
They’ll run out, zoom
Nothing they can do to change that tune
The end comes soon
This was ain’t through

And we’re learning their ways
Filling offices each day
That realization is the source of their rage
They’re scared they…

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Mourning Freedom Chapter 4: Depression

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The depression of defeat settles on the country when solutions we don’t see for the problems it’s facing.

This poem explores the situation.

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It’s quiet
Quiet and we hate it
Feel long since defeated
Hope faded
Screaming just to be heard
To assure we’ve not yet drowned
To get the last word
But the ship is going down
Shit
It’s anger
Fury from knowing the race was rigged
Lost before it began
Built for someone else’s victory

It was planned
For us to fight each other
Distracted by the two puppets that...

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Mourning Freedom Chapter 2: Anger

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Blind by outrage and unable to function united, the world seems to be at the height of disagreement and misguided anger. Meanwhile, terror is signed into action while we scream at one another.

Jack expresses his thoughts on the matter in this poem.

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Age outraged at youth
Youth outraged at age
Coexistence is nonexistent
Yet, persistence others are wrong stay static for the manic
Instistant this way is better
Fury when they won’t listen
Missing the point
We’re all suffering our own battle
While hissing at another’s struggle
Pissed saying it ain't real
It’s only real if we...

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Mourning Freedom Chapter 1: Denial

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Poetic commentary on the current state of denial the average citizen of the United States displays.

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Hopeless
It’s all hopeless
It’s all hopeless
There’s no resistance when it’s hopeless
No fighting to revoke this nonsense we invoke
It’s toxic so we choke
Nod off asleep
Maybe it’ll be gone when we wake back up
It’s not because it’s stuck
Static, the door shut
Bad habits immobilize us
Never find the keys
Never rise up
Locked behind closed doors
The top floors discourse what to…

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