Morose Overload

The will to care is still there

Yet the stream and loops cause the well to be fatigued

Thriving on tragedy is a misconception by others

It becomes predictable exposing obvious atrocities and hypocrisy

If only there could be a world where a poem like this wouldn’t have to exist

One Year In Lockdown

As everyone finds excuses to wear green and possibly drinking beer

The realization hit as the world came to a screeching halt

Not by bombs, guns, planes, or even UFOs

But by an invisible force

6 feet or more away from each other

Zooming all day and seeing faces via Facetime

Essentially leaving certain places still open

Panic surrounding others

As a certain brand of idiocy is born

Memories of empty grocery shelves, missing hand sanitizer bottles, or wipes wiped from the aisles

Mountains of toilet paper loaded in carts

Or even Kenny Omega singing a lullaby to a few 2 ply rolls in a hotel room

What was the world coming to? This wasn’t an overnight fix, but the tensions still remain

In Response to Those Selectively Saying “Be Kind”

The selective logic just became more obvious

Those who thought the former duchess was attention seeking

Were the same who sobbed about Robin Williams and Chester Bennington to name a few

Saving face was the name of the game

As people become keyboard mental health activists of convenience

Where was MY sympathy whenever I spoke up about my issues years ago?

I wouldn’t be surprised if my former bouts of self-harm made certain people ecstatic

Mental health only mattered to some

As the addendums don’t need to be addressed explicitly or reverse engineered dog whistles

Others should be thankful I’m not a troll or a bully

Who knows what psychological damage I could do if I was good at insulting others

Maybe being kind wasn’t as much of a weakness (even with my bouts of solipsism)

Digital facades have always been on parade

As I’ve seen those who’ve said “Be kind!”

Have been total douchebags offline and/or online

Spare me the fake encouragement

Diol Family, You Are Not Forgotten

Moving from the Green Star all the way to the Centennial State

Starting a new life for this family of five

All for a fatal blaze to snuff out these innocent souls

The injustice was a mile high like the city they resided

Parents and children all destroyed by satanic teens in masks

While the flames were from the igniting bigotry

One suspect didn’t fit the narrative of the conglomerates

As it was contrary to an unrelated isolated incident to fuel propaganda

Thank the Divine they’ll face justice as adults while living to tell about it

Others have been erased despite never slaughtering men, women, and children

Diol family, you didn’t deserve this

May your murderers face the most severe of consequences



Here’s a link to this story: https://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/crime/two-teens-charged-as-adults-in-connection-to-denver-house-fire-that-killed-senegalese-family

A 16 Year Sentence Isn’t Enough (Dows=Devils)

Did you feel happy defiling so many innocent souls?

To say there were kid’s gloves involved would be a gross understatement

#MeToo ignored you and your wife, but I didn’t

About time the consequences rained down on you

But it still looks like a slap on the wrist

When others faced more time for less

How many people would be able to get away with destroying children

Especially after they were on THAT registry back in their home country?

How many people did you bribe in one or both nations?

You better thank your privilege for only serving 16 years



For those that don’t know what I’m referring to, then you can watch Preying Missionaries and this news clip from Kenya.

Also, the fact Edmond Nyabola doesn’t have any journalism awards for breaking this story is a travesty, too.

May God bless the victims and their families.

Contradictions by a Brow

Avant-garde art and experimental films one day
Indie BritWres matches the next
Anime after that
Historical documentaries the day after
Sprinkling some nonfiction books in between
Before delving in manga pages
After writing haikus and fiction concepts in a notebook

Why am I a walking contradiction with these hobbies?

Was My Worth Tied Into Being a Critic?

They say every one is a critic

I certainly wouldn’t deny it

My silvery-platinum eyes were spectacles for others

These opinions mattered more in multiple contexts

While proud of these observations

My pride in my own originality faded harder than vintage denim

So many fires, so many embers

Only a few would become pyrotechnics, though I wouldn’t want them to be altars

Other creative works would be on display

There was a joy in bringing light to the obscure from all around the world

No, Japan wasn’t my only destination even though a section of this part of the net appreciated those shiny pennies from the Rising Sun

While I’m versatile, I didn’t want to be confined

Much less ashamed of having fandoms at all

I prayed I wasn’t a failure in all my endeavors

As I’ve thought for most of my life

Invisibility Dissipates With the Trio of Drums

Piano, repique, chico…

The sizes of the three drums brought such color

When one was lost in cultural amnesia

Credit slowly became due long after Barcelona’s crown was rejected

The connection to the lost was retrieved

By hand and by clave

The memories flooded and the shame evaporated

After centuries of propaganda

Robust sounds burst by trios or infantries or cuerdas

Encore, maestros!