Shimmying Notes on Astral Undercurrents


|illustration above by Shaun Lawton|in collaboration with AI
Below you'll see some of my latest story excerpts & poems. ATLANTIS was typed out early this morning, and because its her birthday today, I dedicate it to my dear friend Melissa Wright. Mirrordrowning was conceived and executed by fingertips across the face of a plastic keyboard not that long ago really, springing forth from my rapidly calculating mind. The history of legend just went up in April. Halo of Stones went up an incremental segment of time before that. Below that one, more random writings of mine. Keep scrolling. Welcome to a remote corner of my Blogdom of Thorns.

Have you ever felt as if you have been placed alongside a row of copies? That you are just a navel gazing reflection?
Try not to get the feeling that you as a duplicate yourself are not the right selection. That sensation is just a misdirection. It's okay; turns out there is no right and wrong after all. That's the basis of our rational anthem. Feel free to fall in and stay, or explore the various hidden hyperlinks you may stumble upon throughout this cyber-vicinity. Then begone upon your wildest trip. Don't let the mouse clicks you left behind allow you to slip.

Saturday, March 29, 2025

Far ago and lost now left behind like roadkill

 I’ve never felt so lonely in a world this overcrowded it seems that my one and only hope won’t be heard even if I shouted it from the rooftops for the world to hear, but the wind just carries it away. My opinions do not matter in the world of today. This leads me to feel a sorrow that I cannot quite explain and wonder if I’m suffering from damage to my brain visions I once held that were so pure and true are beginning to be dispelled by everyone, including you. I now feel so lost and alone I can’t begin to express it in the darkness of my mind where a light  once was shown to lead the way forward. There’s only a dimming beam nowadays, Preventing me from moving toward the goals that I once wanted to achieve. I no longer see the reason and I’m finding it much harder to believe there’s anything worthwhile but treason.  The price of eggs and gasoline are subjects of discussion and I could care less about their dream of becoming Russian.  Friends that used to love me now seem to view me with suspicion, if not mockery and hatred pouring with derision. I suppose one idle glance sent their way colored by the wrong lighting sent them scurrying away from the wrongs we were all righting.  Now I’m just left gutted on the side of a dirt road to be crushed beneath the passing tires and flattened like a toad. 

  


 

Rusted gates and Polished skies

 I feel as if a fever dream has woken me up inside. I know that things aren’t what they seem so why does it hurt my pride when people ask me what I think about how things are today I don’t know how to respond or even know what to say.

All the thoughts I used to have are going down the drain. It seems like there has been someone who’s hacked into my brain. I don’t know what’s real anymore because I’ve been online for so damn long, the truth’s now hard to find.

What used to Seem to be so right now I’m told is wrong by people that won’t agree with me or sing my own song. I have no choice, but to be Left alone with my own Private thoughts

I try to stay perpendicular to the truth that everyone else has bought,  I close my eyes and think of times that have long past us by, Their vivid impressions coalesce Before me in the sky.  One consolation that I get when I open my bedroom window are the songbirds singing to themselves I try to let their message flow Through my mind as I unwind and think of days gone past.  I hang onto these memories, hoping they will last.  

I don’t know how much time I have left in this old life, All I know is I love my boy And my one and only Wife. For them, I would do anything No matter what the cost. In their hearts, I hope to find myself getting lost. 

Thursday, March 27, 2025

archipelago

to tease from space 
the arch of a pelican's wing 
  upon the crisscrossed striations 
  of the carpet, the orange 
tabby reclines while ragged 
motifs intertwine 
enhanced by sunlight 
fallen on certain
 curling strands 
  to produce strange
 lines as if written
  in an alien language 
 spelling out the echo 
   of a long relaxed dream