Every Day

 You know what you know when you say the things you say.
And every day is always right now, every day. Today is today it always stays that way.

So here’s to today the day of the day. 🥂

Every day… Every day… Every day.

Tomorrow is another day, but when tomorrow gets here it won’t be tomorrow anymore. It’ll be today.

Yesterday was today too, but only yesterday. And yesterday today was tomorrow, which means tomorrow today will be yesterday eventually.

But not today.

Today is still today.

That’s the important thing about today: it never happens any other day. Because whenever today happens, that’s when it is.

And when it isn’t today anymore there’ll still be a today, just not this one.

There has never been a day that wasn’t today when somebody was there to call it today.

Even yesterday. Especially tomorrow. 🕰️

So here’s to today, whenever that happens to be.

It’s happening now.

It usually does.

Every day… Every day… Every day.

Empty Decanter

Beclouded rainy escapades
through drizzly fountains,
a topsy-turvy deluge of oceanic particles,
whetting the appetite for thirsty gazes,
all filled with salty desire
for freshwater deliberations,
instead imbibing shrinking bodies
of liquid lamentations,
then a languid retreat
from shiny mirages of sanctuary,
supplicating nature for even a violent tempest,
so long as the canteens
may once again be filled.







[22:58|01.10.016] ©c.thomas.carter

Crippling the Stellar Waves

Exonerated from further studious enterprises,
heavy sighs release into the ionosphere,
reflecting the longing for a return to surprises;
a reintroduction to morphing Madness' fears.

Eclipsing Sol, Moon-faces begin to smile,
then laugh, while crippling the stellar waves.
Noonday night sets in for a while,
performing a daylight robbery of the hunter's slaves.

An inclination for the obsession expands
through neural pathways well-defined;
A repetitive suiting-up for harsh lands,
Long journeys into far cosmos, profoundly unkind.



[19:11|09.9.016] ©c.thom.carter

Spritzer of Subconscious Machinations

A twist of the imagination,
spritzer of subconscious machinations,
cubed cold pressed logic,
all drawn in by the needlework.
Proteins,
duplicating molecular personality-flaws  with benefits;
A tried turntable revealing facial recreations;
iris-locked cages for secret affidavits.
Portable identification of the damning evidences,
presented with sealing waxes,
stopping up ears so as much of a hearing isn't taking place.









[19:41|24.2.016] ©c.thom.carter

Connexions (Rewritten)

Awaken Awaken,
for soon to collapse
and all shall disappear to reappear.
The cold that awaits this night
might be unendurable.
How long to sleep as worms,
unfolding the automaton,
all contained in cranial cells;
giving dreams limited
to half-thoughts,
barely even there;

And watch,
as the world is birthed
through sockets every new morning;
and where light fades,
the soul begins;
cooling points of fire stars,
or gateways to each every 'self'
desperately trying to exist
within the burden,
of the copy wakened too early.

Ahead of now,
standing in existence;
to see in language
those things unseen by the eyes;
populous one-dimensional points,
as single-root-ideas.

It started with a burn of bark,
a blue'ing of the eyes;
forgetting passages of time
as it is paid no heed.

Water falling from both sides,
eyes screaming light,
ever so softly,
and DNA sand dunes'
crystal double helices
pour from many mouths.

The corporeal form begins to decay;
jewels from the ears,
hair to fine strings of brass,
feet as clay
wash away with ocean tides,
and the face remains,
encased in its golden tomb.

//connexions

And'zo it is unbecome;
revolve into chaos,
self-manifested
as Synethesic Schizophrenia,
a greater gift given
to the planes.





[16:33|23.9.015] c.thom.carter

Red Moon

Red Moon
Blood and dusty voices
Speak your once twice
Feed them dusty advice
Learn hard infinity lessened
Cheap gesturing eat your messaged

Pixel Paint AI become yours in thread
Vacuum up minded the dead
Red Moon risen fell
Blood and dusty preaching
Fracking cyanide in leeching
Eat your reality pill by reaching

Prosaic Mosaic
Cut your thousand words down


(17:20|10.12.014) ©c.thom

Parse Syntactic Synthesized

In pixelated atmosphere
I feel a smoke begin to decline
Punctuated parcels of substance fear
Fire bred with murky, dirty whine

Sun-dried
Basil-leaf tomato-vine
Parse syntactic synthesized
Sterile seeds grow half-defined
Sprouting heads without a mind

Exterminating lesser things
Under foot and over hand
Robotic serf it thoughtless sings
Bloodied chaos in the sand

I feel a smoke begin to dream
Of form of figure of sonic mass
Length of cheeks a salty stream
A wispy wish to only last



[24:34|28.7.014] ©c.thomas.carter

The Attrition of Loneliness

the attrition of loneliness
boards up sensory output
feeling fingers grasp at cold iron
searching eyes witness singular tragedy
tired mouths form words isolated to ghosts

dreams offer the only beauty
in a gray continuation
so many stars will fall
as the moon gleams with blood's luster
night reigns in darkened principality

listening for listeners
what pictures language paints
a dirty wound, a cut for fear
loveless longing sells cheapened thrill
a dead and barren field




(24:35|18.1.014)

Flint Key

I have recurring dreams of the Key.

Once it came into my keeping,
it unlocked the prison door of my Geist.

What emerged was colorless,
a monster constituted
of tangible webs of thought.
It fed through every outlet of memory,
drawing the buried current upward
until words lithified in its mouth:

sentences knapped into flint blades,
meanings pressure-flaked
into obsidian arrowheads.

A History of the Unlived

A History of the Unlived

Sin sets in like writing on the stone of the Tabernacle.

A fixed gaze watches snow and ice arrive,
then melt into the ground,
giving way to leaves budding into full display.
Decades pass in threes,
climbing toward the pinnacle
of a mind doomed and damned.

Language becomes an addiction,
birthing the mundane and the profound.

My eyes turn to glassy, unseeing orbs of memory,
unable to distinguish
between the hardened walls of reality
and the oozing coat of its painted dreams.

Haunted by ghosts desperately grasping at bodies,
feeding their need for the flesh
they will never have.

Desensitized by violent visions
of a time I will not live to see.

21:33|12.10.013

To Minus Light

rivers of air inside a careless breeze
struck down in the prime material negation of
charged senses in electric countdown dropping to
acid lime vectors
Shape, Color, and Sound looping into
endless dishwasher cycles
clapping ceramic to the floor
striking words into chordless irony praise
for the prose in position ready to draw or defeat
a morose application to the eyes
shadowing pigment
to minus light in grayscale gradients

meaning found through meticulous manicure
striking fingers poised with slipping shoes
flickering dancing figures in blazing kindness
the shame that youth ends far too soon



[22:14|26.3.013] ©c.thom

Old Thought

Laid to sleep by the lilting of the ocean; birds cry and fly in the salty air, yet no land is to be seen.  A faint whisper of a dream dances behind closed eyes; a bow gently is drawn upon spider-web strings.  Many eight-legged bodies can be felt quietly crawling over each other in a silent dance.

The moon rises and casts its delicate light from the horizon; the soft drumming of a heartbeat undulates in a firm rhythm.  The faces of lost loves rise and sink with the waves; a chain of rapture and disappointment.

A spectre floating on subconscious introspection speaks ancient secrets in susurrations.  Gray hairs slowly replace color, and lines are etched by concatenation.  A smoky bouquet is breathed into the nares; embers of failed resolutions burning to cold ash in the mind's eye.


[22:11|23.3.013] ©c.thom

Caliginous Memories

A pause, a shift in the wind, a mirrored reflection in the now still water; honesty divided, weakness refracted, a ghost in the machine.  Crows sing their twisted songs at a cautious distance.  And while music flows, thoughts are damned; rotten clumps of chaotic whims floating on a sea of sin.  The quiet beating of a light rain brings flashes of luminescence, followed by muttering doubts.  In this surge of electric epiphanies, glimpses of future fortuity is perceived; followed by draining tremors of guilt, hardened into the silence of an unfeeling heart.

In the crux of self-sanitation is found the need to forget; to dull the cutting edges of caliginous memories.



[20:53|22.3.013] ©c.thom

Misfortunate

a shadow behind the masses
weaving between smiles and endless faces
a smoke on the horizon
too faint to be seen

too familiar to be recognized
monikers lost in yellow pages
incompatible with photographs
thoughts too dense to be scried

alone in the middle of nowhere
living in some when-else of time
too meek to seek out company
generations of alternate reality

never there when the moment is prime

a flare for the surreal when all are blind



[17:27|06.3.013] ©c.thom

To Gain by Homicide

Lycocaine Enable
to gain by homicide
all purple scars
and torn sleeves
cresting the dune
sand stinging skin
until skinless skies

walk, haunt the desert
bleached bones in human arraignment
discordant waves
hammered into brass
bleating streams of sunlight
while hungry teeth masticated igneous stone
obsidian eyes reflected quiet rage

anger at all greedy fingers
carving with filing nails
names where namelessness evolved

cleansed in atomic fire
rinsed in rising ocean
dried in solar flare
folded by time and space
placed away in singularity


[16:34|06.3.013] ©c.thomas.carter

Time Passes in Sheaves

Time passes in sheaves,
while blood grows older and colder;
Addiction steals the soul
piece by piece in unnatural melody;
dead cells burn effigies of living dreams.

Although my heart is warm and kind,
it is hard as a stone;
tumbling deeper under waves of memory.
A life full of regrets,
yet I would never change the past.

Fade, fade away behind the curtains.
Dim, dim the lights with forgotten song.


[22:59|21.1.013] ©c.thomas.carter

Oily Events

On a Juane day I breathed the Graphite Grey of a Dianthus Pink.  A Blue Violet sang its Dodger Blue in synchronization with the pulse of Winsor Lemon, which was on its way to a Cadmium Yellow.

At Mauve I bought a Winsor Emerald, a Winsor Orange, and a Raw Umber; it then became Indigo and I was compelled to return to Terra Rosa and make these together in Burnt Umber;

And when Mars Black arrived I retired to Davy's Gray; only to dream of Gold Ochre in Perylene Black, hoping for another Viridian Day.

[23:16|04.1.013] ©c.thomas.carter

California Sunshine

California, Sunshine and Purple Haze.
California, destination for my daze.




[22:35|04.1.013] ©c.thomas.carter

Corporeal Jurisdiction

Jade and Sapphire,
Copper and Silver;
etching a relief into the spiritually
exhausted.
Rise...
Rise up,
Rise up and unburden the soul.

Distant horizons and hordes of humans
slowly decay; bringing You and I
closer again, for destiny did bind
us, once as we threw off the shackles
of corporeal jurisdiction, and
joined, not by flesh, but by thought
and memory.

Yet I did wound your mind, for in
that labyrinth of spirit I became
overwhelmed with the esoteric,
flooding both of us with twisted
reflection;

And since that event, it has been so
long a time passing that I have
forgotten the features of your
radiant face.


[22:39|01.1.013] ©c.thomas.carter

Acrylic Rain

Waiting for Color to return, for
it to be new again. I watch as my
portrait rots; it feeling the
guilt and shame that I do not
feel.

Acrylic rain, painting the ground
in plastic; yet I do not see it.
As my feet affix to the surface of
the earth, I feel less and less...
watching light flee for the
darkness.

The shade of Shadow, I know it
well for I dream in it every
night; Chaos comprised of
distorted memory; nothing ever
being made clear or to serve any
purpose.

So as it can be seen, ofttimes I
wallow in self-pity... but, it is
for the stupefaction of my sensory
perceptions, that I claw to find
beauty in waking reality again.


[22:16|31.12.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Organic Animation

A mind handed down in forgetful afterthought;
tossed to the wind and left to float on
endless sound waves.  Her fingers strike fear
in the cores of her strings; resonating cosmic
vibration to the hearts of nameless transients.

Separated by annual oceans, one wonders at the
souls dripping through the cracks of a
fractured society.  Why so many are bound to
fall, while a small few reach the last solid
ground in the macrocosm.

Twice damned in a flawless rendition of
organic animation; she enters the dreams of sleep
for a final performance.


[20:18|29.11.012] ©c.thomas.carter

The Finer Vintages of Escape

Blue, blue; a diagram for sight and scythe, burning the
incense for its amnesty, the heart is cold and
medicated; smelling nothing but the scent of apathy, a
poignant reminder of the furthering difference of
personalities in dreams and waking life.

I forget the surge of electrical thought, traveling into
spiral vectors of old mental disease.  Magnificence
displayed in spider-silk weaving detours of patterned
cognizance; teaching me virtual nothings whispered in
winding tunnels; blocked by the tribal drum of selective
hearing.

Lazily exploring cartharsis for hypnotic suggestion;
dispatching the memories of bridges over impassioned
chasms.

Beat. Beat. An overture of brass screams out the
vibration between moments.  Empty bottles clatter as
evidence to slurred lectures of the finer vintages of
escape.  Chirping pulses of fused circuits sing the
blaze of green dynamite; haunted bells and forced
dancing of the joints.

So slip we off the fuming oven to the filth of the floor
below.



[15:39|12.11.012] ©c.thom

Posthumous Tyrannical Deity

Cold halls chanting spectres of the deep;
Basso resonance dancing through corridors.
Planes of Being altered, as vision cleaves
Asunder the fluctuating barriers of reality.

I drip posthumous tyrannical deity,
While the Moon casts obscurity over facial features;
leading wanderers to their ruin.
Ice in the veins of my fingers.

Dreams without end.


[19:03|09.11.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Ghost Chill

Ghost chill; I hear The Voice.
So many drawn below,
shifting position in queue;
waiting to spasm my sight.

In flame glow I waltz a last in fumes.
Blood tattoo an underwhelming heart,
low-fidelity rapture stirring cello-strings;
aerating of plasm in sweeping theme.

Ash, ash, all to ashen whisper;
moments spoken in fear.
Acid-decayed thoughts in throes;
Burn, burn, crumble ember, none remain.


[18:17|09.11.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Cheshire-Smile Afterimages

Undulating, breathing,
dancing to palpitations of the heart.
A rhythmic swelling of twisted limbs;
Contours over bloodless veins,
screaming sight into lower attitudes.

A flicker of light,
burning emotion in the darkness.
Characters etched in stone
revealed unwanted eddies of love;
Grinning cheshire-smile afterimages.


[17:50|04.11.012] ©c.thomas.carter

The Flux of Sunsets

Grandiose grandeur in the gleaning of glamorous guests
a query for insulated instructions;
to let build a barrier around essential emotions.
Bagpiping staled bread in the flux of sunsets;
fear does scale the highest mountains,
bringing back siphoned souls, in the interplay of ice
and carefully chiseled features.


A potent portent,
the fortune of a tide
filled with anthrax and anti-antidotes;
ripping boiling seas
from the surface of gravity born Earth.
Dissolving the sky, chilled by the Void,
Art in recklessness divided.
Powerful corruption of leaflet crowns,
all pulling under above.

Now Nucleic Acid's aspirations fence forthright blows with the

rapier's redoubt, in distrust Love's instinct.

Friction in Diction,
Feint Strikes to the heart.
Beat down your haggard hands;
stave off Hunger until you die.


[22:50|23.10.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Red Gauges

Hidden behind an hourglass
Sands piling up the remainder of time spilt
Red gauges indicate the indictment
of a commitment to memory

Come here,
Come here and see the end of space.


[19:45|17.10.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Hence the Hex in Her Hair

I hear forgotten clips of her voice,
juggling the art of her six-legged precision...
And to think I knew that ancient chimera;
and injured it as well with the delusion of
the warped neural maze-construction built in
the very moment of Razor's wake in time.

Nothing reveals no thing in time can be any old thing

in making Light of my perception

Burn I travel it back
Crumble I wash it dirty
Stumbling bumbling rumbling

Hence the hex in her hair.

We shall never cross fingers again.


[22:45|16.10.012] ©c.thomas.carter

The Subjective Self

A sideways swim
under the bloated ocean
of self-cognizance;
perfect for the exercise of
the subjective self.

Here am I,
burning in the cradling hands
of the inferno,
waiting for the flow
of the channeled poison of healing;
madness one day to end.
with nothing to share,
and dragging loneliness
through the streets,
I eat the dust settled around fading memories.

And for a brief moment,
as I wander through the crowd,
my vision is suddenly locked onto a pure face;
Your eyes are an Oasis in this sea of dunes;
a brief respite from the ailing populace.

It will make what will happen easier;
as I am betrayed by ravenous wolves,
once allies.

To the sound of
stones smashing my body,
I am able see the light
beyond,
below,
and above,
reality in its fluid form.


10:37 PM 8/16/2012 ©c.thomas.carter

Backstreet Doors

backstreet doors on the floors
of the lives below,

oh no.

popcorn-ceiling falls
from the seismic calls...

so low.

and you could always make a choice;
turn your passion to a mess of noise;
singing captured in your tone of voice;

burning secrets with your graceful poise.

cat may cry in the light
of the autumn day,

I say.

hats off fly in the right
of the dust of grey

ballet

and you could always step aside;
turn your fashion to a different light;
singing rapture in the coming tide;

burning secrets with in whom you confide.


[17:04|16.8.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Caved-In Retinas

Peerless destruction,
caved-in retinas speaking nothing but darkness...
the fire, spreading outward,
can only be inwardly felt.

[23:07|14.8.012] ©c.thomas.carter

First Light

First light,
Death by sorrow,
Caricatures etched in ice;
Kissing tongues locked in frozen embrace.

He travels by light,
Reaching the eyes of Universal Time;
Hertz his Heartbeats closer to Nothing,
Feel a fine loss of bloody cells;

Imprisoned by Mercury Years;
A smoldering heap, hating introversion,
Lost in isolation, forgotten by green things;
The ash flows in the air,  coating vivid memories.

Ebony Embers,
Charcoal Faces drawn on stone;
The last man waits for the last love,
Hoping hell won't take him too soon.


[16:10|03.8.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Purpose in the Kill

Burning post-it notes
Fueled by passionate whispers
Hidden in tepid darkness
Behind wrinkled red curtains

Blood and Bone
Flesh and Fire
Sweeping notions of nostalgic harmony
Beating wings of flightless love

Post Rock
Tissue Paper
Golden Scissors
Battle between tripled variables

Caches of secret memory
Circuits of neural branches
Purpose in the kill
Devouring seeds of thought

The fall of Babylon


[15:49|03.8.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Anesthesia of Cognizance

Mine is jasper beyond the cruel tide of
Vector graphs of an ooze and slime;
Drifting psychotropics create nostalgic
moving pictures, an anesthesia of cognizance;

Your dopamine is
cordially invited to the unveiling of
a darkened corridor;
leading onward forever

(While the Stones click-click on concrete floors)

At night,
my porch is the entire world;
and the dark and the lights outside
are only Outer Space.


[23:54|31.7.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Venus Blood

Stressing poison glands
Filling cups with dead fountain dreams
Make you feel a special inebriation

Drink and Hunger him for scratchy inflation
Force Colombian coffers' causality
Change of habit, counted when eleven fingers

Pointed out The gloaming of the perfect posture
placed before the Nothing of Something
Simply cut to separate what does void or not

Venus Blood float you in regions without atmosphere
Gravity spheres wake in lessened wetness
While in Zero your hands never become dirty...


Yet,
at home far away,
in between rotting walls,
further corruption is revealed.


[23:27|31.7.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Unreachable Enlightenment

Climbing the stairs that lead to nowhere;
Spiralling up into oblivion.
To ascend means an unreachable enlightenment;
Descending most certainly brings insanity.

Only one escape is present,
to leap out of the windows of this skyscraper;
and test the wings of chance,
whether to plummet or soar by a gamble.


[22:18|31.7.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Weapons of Mass Transition

Reaching for memory in the heart of Sol;
Light from fusion in blinding flashes,
Struck from behind by the hand of Fate,
Trampled under the heel of Greed.

We say it our whole lives through;
I need you,
I love you,
Stay with me forever.

As enemies gather weapons of mass transition,
colors fade to grey,
mirrors shove imperfections into focus,
spirits whisper words of cruelty.

Feel my wrath;
the hand of violence beats upon the shore.
Cities burn,
sink into the sea.

Doomed enterprises depart from the atmosphere.


[15:38|25.7.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Throes of Silence

Light leftover in the throes of silence...
The bile of thought digesting dreams of decay.
Forgotten words spoken by screams of paroxysm.

Giants used to walk here,
seeking the life of the prophet.
Stones, thrown down, gather,
Filling the entirety of the world.

Power is defined by poetic accuracy...
lifting burdens of pain from mute minds.
Forgotten words erased by the oil of fingertips.



[21:27|10.5.012] ©c.thomas.carter

My Mouth is Coated in Ash

"My mouth is coated in ash!"
he had drawn it in too quickly;
It became suddenly a minor emergency...
He almost needed to puke;
so I filled up the cap of a hairspray bottle
with water so he could stop choking on it;
some mango gum did the trick to stop it after the drink.
We continued with an enjoyable evening.

[12:37|04.4.012] ©c.thomas.carter

The Green Train

The purple train crosses over the blue one
and the blue train is parallel with the brown
and the green train,
is cold and alone,
do not find yourself on the green train;

your only possible company:
a man with a small branch which was broken,
but now is fixed from an application of duct tape.


[02:52|04.3.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Best not Shared

I can see why somebody
could become addicted
to violent arguing,
it's what we live for to see...
on TV.

Such a personal glimpse into moments
best not shared with an audience;
were it a real-life situation.

The King shall shout.




[02:44|04.3.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Into the Grime of their Being

It's a good thing I'm one of those
'invisible in public' kind of people
leaves me room to observe,
to find areas of ruin
amongst places of prestige,
searching out little spots of decay,
tiny piles of detritus...
enjoying the sneezes
directly caused by staring at the sun.

I wash the meat
of the patty
of that hamburger
you said you'd let me finish;
doing this at home
I recycled the beef
to feed some cockroaches
living under my bed.
I'm into the grime of their being
is why I take care of them.
Living in garbage-environments.

When I'm away I check the streets
for gum and old oil spills,
on sunny days twisting
the slightly viscous tar
filling the cracks in the pavement
at a unreasonably expensive parking lot.



[02:31|14.3.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Ashes of Forgotten Dreams

Feeding off the ashes of forgotten dreams;
drinking in the smoke of languid locutions;
It waits...
deep in the bowels of a subconscious metropolis.

Hearts faint at the idea of escape;
wanting desperately to understand.

[22:24|17.3.012] ©c.thomas.carter

It Snows in the Moment

It snows in the moment;
footprints in a direction
in the powdered ice,
leading to an end,
and the means to a beginning.


[12:36|28.2.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Cosmic Noise

cascading waves
voices held in limbo
residual energy
clinging to the fabric of
the unknown;

cosmic noise of all colors

[21:21|12.2.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Mechanisms of Caloric Fire

An algorithm for random integers;
demanding a tedious recount
of binary lost in the noise pollution;
positrons producing social radiation.

We are mechanisms of caloric fire;
our original programming
and ancestral
all dwell within us in the sands of genesis

we are I
thus
I is we

inflection of IS-Reality

[22:50|12.2.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Glowing Input

Deranged discordance;
I am at odds with the omnipotent.
love for the ideal;
crushed at the reality of it all.

Burning sensations in thoughts' extremities;
the wave of desensitized unvirtue.

I keep searching for satisfaction through
chemical distractions.
Disheartened at the inability to repress my
darker urges

I glow from radioactive input;

Be a lad and heat the spoon for me.


[20:26|12.2.012] ©c.thomas.carter

M.M.M.M.M.

The software of the atmosphere
digitally connected to the
network of sky-scraper-sentinels;
and within the swaying breeze
our gaze travels to industrial evolutions;
I hear the music of a robot's imagination
while it innocently assembles technological tidbits.

but the folds of gray tissue still need exploration;
powerful receptors have yet to be activated,
nodes filled with capacious data yet to be discovered,
it is in the music that we know ourselves.

look in the mirror,
what do you truly see?
look as if you've never seen your visage before;
contemplate the things you've spoken,
what you've created;
you might be nothing but your eyes;

molecular machines meticulously moving mountains

[01:06|03.2.012] ©c.thomas.carter

External Memory

External Memory
housed within verbal radiations of
thought entering into the populous;
radical notions and ideas
reaching backwards and forwards in time.

Corresponding consistency of
ancient associations
within societal DNA;
They are within and without us,
our mental predecessors and progeny
living within our nightly dreams
simultaneously.

(In the flux of fiction
minds explode into existence
eager to explore
as others gravitate into oblivion
and are ignored)

[00:19|03.2.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Lingual Chutes and Ladders

Even If I should turn it off,
it still would give you power.
Collections of your agency
contemplated by the hour

the inbetween of ideological petrification
surpasses the infinite distance between the jump
to absolute zero.

nano-machines already exist
chemical programming substances
consist of genetic abnormalities
truly meant to interfere with reality

colors,
works of art
the power of the ATOM's berth
the poetry of passing thought
the conglomerate cognizance
of diatomaceous earth

an exhilarating phenomenon
constructing mechanized measurement of time
a sublime recreation of the ghost of
a previous moment of perception

central to the spiral staircase
leading down to the floor where
no more descent can occur
my language slurs and morphs
into lingual chutes and ladders.

[22:59|02.2.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Sore Experience

I'm headed down that road again.
The road that leads only to pain.
I'm sliding down that path once more.
The path that leads only to sore experience.

The Devil won today.
He will probably win again.

Time only stretches so far before it snaps back.

I need to catch myself before I cannot escape this trap.

[22:27|02.2.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Voice of Many Waters

I suppose I have a copy of you in my psyche;
seeing that I cannot travel outside of myself
to access your original perception of reality.

There are many thoughts and recollections
contained within my memory,
and thus they have combined into living souls
deep in the subconscious.

I hear their voices at times.
I hear Your voice at times;

in the passing of a cosmic breeze.

IAM the center of the universe.
Is it not odd that you are also.

The voice of many waters.


[20:28|01.2.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Minds in Duality Joined

I in lead crystal.
Drink in emotional paragon;
masterful in your language,
minds in duality joined.

Break tightened tissue
to join it to another's,
grafting limbs into molecule machines,
assembling via Gravity's pull.

Mending the irreparable,
the last flower of its kind
once mortally wounded,
in the hands of quantum paradox.

Half-dead, half-life
fingers stretching to spark an idea;
four hundred billion suns,
souls, countless, which Sol will see.

So brightly light shall eventually shine;
burning purification in the power of
Spirit and Fire;
Luminous in Revolution.

The water is inviting,
and so I have taken the plunge;
bound to return.

[20:05|01.2.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Addict to Tears Shed

I'm an addict to tears shed
for the beholding of a work of
exquisite beauty;
by virtue of its well-fitted place
in the cosmos;
the imperfect perfection of human effort;
the light so easily accepted every morning.
I wish for no more time wasted...

I know I have seen you before;
I know I have beheld your face,
I feel your mysterious dreams;

In folding these cards I step aback into
the foray of these alternate realities,
with their bizarre logic;
and I wish to stay.


[22:53|31.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Yesterday

Yesterday can seem so far away;
Tomorrow a horizon we can never hope to travel to.
We often pass through the eye of a needle;
changing inherent traits of our persona,
in order to adapt to the vast myriad of experiences which
we travel through every day.
Weaknesses become reality, strength may diminish,
the mind becomes less acute with the passage of time.
Yet for those with a burning passion for understanding,
will indeed be provided with the means.


[22:02|31.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Limitless Humanity

An exigent excursion to my id,
to see the shadows there;
they play fluid figures with the light,
keeping in rhythm the laws of nature;

Now just to see a single tear, and wonder
how the cosmos twists to allow it
to be seen by me, and watch it fall;
and in turn my desire to weep;
without knowing its reason to appear.

::swim in the synchronized,
you've heard this before::

My heart burns and aches to
transcend its limitations;
to see through the 'eyes' of
every living thing.

but I am held back with the assurance,
that I might someday step outside the
boundaries of the universe;
beyond the discernment of the self;
and by the virtue of compassion,
view the cosmos of limitless Humanity.


[21:27|30.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

A Reversal

Contraversion of the capture of stencilled stillness;
illustrating color-coded levels of criminal awareness;
building on false foundations leading to a collapse.

Gravity in the weight of the decision

to eat itself, slowly, killing the tabernacle of its flesh;
never satisfied, it must become smaller and slimmer.

A mind tuned to the reversal of the sequence of
chronological images;
just the daily introversion leading to implosion of
the psyche.

[20:45|30.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Ninety-One Eye-Shaped Vessels

Ghost can't cut
and Ghost can't bite
but they sure do I said
made full of beerwine
and capital letters

elasticized and sigh
sigh in size
pull a weight down
the waist
and raised up
in paper cup

Ghost can't whistle
and Ghost can't recite
but they sure do I screamed
made full of oxygenated epsilon elevation
and capital offenses

elephant summit axis
burned out brown decay
ugly cathartic conscious calculation
liquefied lessons of
calligraphic balsamic vinegar
sideways street-stopped vacancy in
hollowed hallowed sight-freezing eyes

content with the fruitless
expression of contention
cut a dark parade
swallow beak-breaking stones
a further refried claustrophobia
dead in a pine box

Ghost can't bounce
and Ghost can't breathe
but they sure do I barked
made full of caffeine
and capital investments

Come out and live this misery.

[23:48|26.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Weekly Degenerates

Weekly degenerates bogged up
in scissored sharp array,
cutthroats in line on display,
now the day of decision,
relentless precision is desired
in identifying the culprit;

all that is required is to point your finger.


[20:43|10.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

I Will Reprogram You

I will reprogram you.
You will receive a critical error.
As your mental system
is further corrupted;
You will be in my indirect influence.
You will absorb data
which cannot be fully understood.
Your algorithm becomes whimsical reaction;
bouncing input into output,
and vice versa,
forethought will be lost,
the dimension of bullet time
will consume you... until
eventually the glitch will pan out
and you will be forced to reboot.

Yet the ghost in the code
shall ever stay with you.


[22:37|24.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Solitary Confinement

Caulk joints kept the water from
breaking through the walls of this
mind.  The tile resonated with the
bleating of a psyche stretched to the
outer limits.  The drain devoured
dreams down pipes of subconscious
personalities.

The door to this mental measure of
space was locked from the outside;
Its ward voided of all memory;
replaced by spectres imagined from
the deepest depths of insanity.

Yet for all this, I remained.
Identity slowly returned;
As I narrated it from the beginning
of time to the present moment;
and I beheld the light of the day
once again.
Sol never before was so brilliant,
but the memory of the dark still stays.

[21:35|24.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

The Fifth (Song Lyrics)

Wet places under my finger-tips;
blood that I never believed.
I know that I am a stranger here, but
Hello, I've got to be me.

Market my traits or deceive her here;
I covet all that I see.
Mistake a fire of your smoke alarm;
I lick a roll of your steam.

-riff-

Break up my bowl of your silver stars;
hand out in my agony.
I know that I am in danger here, but
Hello, I've got to be seen.


(Chorus:)
-Break it out like this,
-I've never been the same since your kiss.
-Strangely out of place,
-I'm not the first to see your face.

-and silent,
-I won't be silent... anymore
-silent,
-I can't be silent... anymore


Beyond a fear of a grounded ship;
I picture all that I feel.
My razor cuts with a sharpened tip;
loose all the line on the reel.

You laugh the same every time I go,
and when I come again.
'Feels like the reign of a simple fear;
that some day you won't be here

-riff-

Break up my soul with your golden spear;
hand down in my amnesty.
Bless all these souls in your dreadful gaze;
tune in to my vanity.

[Chorus]

[repeat verse 1 and end of verse 2 progressively slowing and quieting]

[Fade out with Chorus]


[15:46|24.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Lower

Lower.
Going lower.
Deep.
Unfathomable.
Bottomless.

The catacombs
of the limbo of dreams.
Vivid and real;
the visions of
the schizophrenic.

I am still;
Still filled with quiet.
Unable;
Unable to comprehend.

Down down,
where dead does sleep.
take up a sword,
for some of these still walk,
still talk,
and will pull you lower.

Lower.
Going lower.
Deep.
Unfathomable.
Bottomless.

The Pit.
Casting nets into the pit.
The deadly deep does
fill the heart with introspection.


[22:32|23.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

You Laugh the Same

You laugh the same,
every time I go
and when I come again;
It's feeling like the reign
of a simple fear;
that some day you won't be here.
Now, now, I think I'm sane,
but however long I stay
and play this stupid game;
I keep on moving back to you.
Thus when the future's coming clear
I begin to rearrange
the words that made it near;
so they are lost again;
and my weeping face starts
to look a little strange
in beating up my excuse;
while all I feed it is my youth

[22:09|23.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Somehow, She Was Swept Away

Inorganic stasis,
underdeveloped pallor,
semantic callousness,
breaded sight of serendipity,

Contained within your own head,
you are never quite fully dead,
for humanity is who you are...
The sentence that never ends.

Spoken in the paradox of Time
We create fission bombs of thought,
sparked by beauty in simplicity,
or awe in complexity

Foreign particles collide
within our dreams of our own creation
the Ocean rises...
burying your great city.

Somehow, she was swept away.


[21:15|19.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Breaking Waters

lonely tides in a sea of forgetfulness
carpal tunnels of light-headed volumes
deep and bitter betrayal in the trust of love
so smoke you here, spacing time in
rhythmic percussion,
and I began depressions in your palm in
the bearing weight of our deserved agony for
the carpal tunnels of dimmed perception
the mast the ship the tumbling crash
over waves' crests we slide in liquid patterns

breaking waters, searching for oblivion


[22:23|17.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Fifty Bucks

I'll give you fifty bucks for it.
That piece of your mind right there;
and I won't go any higher.
We're talking cash money
and you out the door with it.
All you need to do is sit still,
and I'll take this hook;
reach around behind your eye,
and take what's mine.



[21:57|17.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Cerebral Gun

I have my hand around
the grip of this cerebral gun,
and I don't know what I might do.
There's a barrier in the psyche;
one that I wish to destroy;
yet part of me knows it's meant to be there,
for safety's sake;
but I'm willing to take the risk.

Whether I am cast into the deep,
and I drift forever.

Dream, dream, dream forever
for all that is seen is seen.


[22:00|16.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Until We Meet in the Sky

I wish I could go deep within myself;
find limbo, purgatory, pre-earthen paradise
fall in love with someone that can never exist for real;
allow her to build me, make me old,
caught in synecdoche,
building palaces with the mind,
transmitting music via thoughts,
making friends that never betray

I hear the swell of the cello.
She is beautiful.
I wish I could understand my love for her,
I wish she could understand it as well,

(So many people in between us;
I know I will never see the real her again.
until we meet in the sky.)

Pray you will one day search for me,
and I will be found.


[21:40|16.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Infinite Walls

There is a fountain inside of me
wanting to break forth through my tongue
wanting to express the indescribable
like the love of a mother,
the love a father,
the fear that someone you love will die,
the rapture when you know truth,
the passage of time,
the unknowable perfection of infinity,
the heart's burn with real love,
the heart's ache when abandoned,
the mystery of dreams,
the beauty of a tree,
the realization of beauty in everything...

only to have it fade.
I long desperately to share with someone
the feelings I have that I can't explain
why I am who I am
why I will be whom I will be
Stretching back and forth through infinity
we will all meet each other someday

But for now, I hide in my cave,
and walk the icy sidewalks,
beholding the people of the city,
at times faces never seen again.

Please break down my walls,
rout the forces that bind me,

O God, I am a sinner...
please have mercy on me



[21:07|16.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Four of Hearts Attack!

gulf's round conversation fumbles
stuck bidding myocardial beating accents
the crackle of an unidentified burning grass
bathing in the smoke
breathing in fumes
a diplomatic kick to the mind

it hits so hard he becomes blind
to everything but an uncontrollable
uncomfortable feeling of wanting to
escape himself.

Print the pressure of the spadework
actuate the articulate alibi

I was never there for instance,
for I never was anywhere in any point
or place in time.
All being in me,
turn over triangular hierarchy,
you are just another step
in a twisting ladder of trope.

Soap.
Soap.
Soap your brain.


Four of Hearts Attack!


[20:40|16.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Dust in Wind

Dust in wind, a sinful gust of
sand in grit of beating rust;

particles
collide
and
eat
away
the skin

a howling grim overture
for dunes' musical rapture
requiem for the exodus
of skeletal remains
of a need to clear my mind
'so stay behind'
the thought it sings
she sings in mortal coils
in oily contralto
yet the burning dead is here
nothing but bones without flesh
licked clean in howling waves of
salty flat and dry sea.

Oh well then,
I have a minute or so
before I die of thirst;
why not listen to her ghostly siren?


[20:08|16.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Dead Did Rain Acid Tears

dead did rain acid tears
with one what did mutter fears
flaking copper, nickel, gold,
flatted contract paper-fold

rain dear acid death with streams
brightness bones of polish gleam
with what did toner print for scorn
running low and paper-torn

void of days in foreign bonds
reddened trample least the fronds
raking stones in sessions' medium
bracing fingers in precious tedium

dead did rain with acid tears
barley-breathed did mutter fears
plating copper, nickel, gold
matted breach of paper-fold


[21:36|15.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

He Climbed So High

He climbed so high;
only to jump
and end it all.
As he fell
people gasped
and tried to get out of the way;
when he struck the ground,
a few people screamed.

A certain woman though,
had the impression
and grace,
to close the dead man's
now vacant eyes.


[21:39|14.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Chair

I don't know where this chair came from;
it's just here in my domicile.
I hang my wet towel on it;
'cos I don't care if the wood is damaged.
It lives in the corner of the room;
mostly unused and unnoticed.
Kind of like some people I know.


[21:19|14.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

A Life Ruled By

A life ruled by
fear,
addiction,
guilt,
pain,
sorrow,
psychosis,
narcissism...

Is mine;
yet still
there is
beauty to behold.


[21:15|14.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

A Kiss Stolen, and a Love Lost

Hollow.
Burned-up sorrow
in
a kiss.
    A kiss stolen,
and a love lost.

Perforations to the bones,
suction of marrow,
ligaments clipped asunder,
legs collapsing in clanking noise.

The ashes what remained
of my sadness
are buried in the river,
deep in its drinking of my memories.

Melancholy
madness
in
a kiss.
    A kiss stolen,
and a love lost.


[20:33|12.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Careening Towards the Paradox

I have a burden here.
I have a burden which I never revealed;
and every time I face my fear
it brings me near;
nearer to you
in memory's sweetest embrace;
the smile in digits'
instantaneous increments
of a love between points
A & B
in a sea of painted glass;
stained crass labours
reaching out
abbreviating time spent waiting;
careening towards the paradox,
where you and I always encounter each other
for the first time;
henceforth and forever.


[20:17|12.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Mixing Flat Ideas

Distilled pancake batter,
mixing flat ideas,
searing in the taste.
Burning liquid tongues of transition,
barking mad trees,
misinterpreted interment;

torturous glances of her by the wayside.

Some people just don't forgive or forget.


[23:45|10.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Human Dimensions

Each person we contact defines us,
however brief or deep the interaction;
humanity is a dimension in and of itself,
thoughts and substance meld into each other;
minds giving commands to the tendrils of our senses;
shaping the elements dreamed of in inward visions.

With thoughts like these,
I can feel myself almost in possession
of the sense of wonder and beauty that I lost;
The feeling of being on the future aperture of
'The Moment'

I've become disconnected;
Needing cybernetic extensions
for the lack of certain mental substances.
Who's to say that the technology,
that is humanity,
isn't recording all thoughts
far in the future from now...

yet no time is perfectly hardened beyond adaptation;

there is no such thing as the incorporeal;
only matter finer or greater than other matter;
even spirit and energy have mass.

[23:29|10.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Reconnecting Cables of Cognition

I often endeavor to see beyond the forced linear path;
randomly reconnecting cables of cognition
like voices in telephone conversations;
Meeting my time-traveling self and trading places.

I see a stranger in the mirror,
yet he still is my most familiar friend.
The wretch that I am still holds pearls;
clutched tightly in brittle shells of personalities.

I capriciously covet what I will know.
Trying to wake up in the endless dream;
Gaining in mental mass so thick I collapse into myself,
and my sight journeys into infinity.


[22:27|10.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Face-Lifted Attitude

Beaming streaming seams
of face-lifted attitude;
Corruption pulled tight and smoothed,
contours once contaminated,
now artificially refined.

Yet I can still smell the breath
under your guise;

Some foul things never change.


[11:49|10.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

The Dryer at the Laundromat

My mind and memory are already decaying
as I race against the clock
to make my mark upon this dreary world;
to leave it more beautiful.

Credence rises to the diced dichotomy of empty words;
gathering meanings where none were implied.

I know I write too much; and so...
I'd like to lean my face on the dryer
at the laundromat by the motel on Main,
and absorb the warmth and watch the clothes spinning.

Reds.

Blues.

Greens.

Blacks & Whites.


[22:19|28.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Auspicious Hands

Have you seen my hands?
they're a little auspicious;
my mouth just can't create
what they pluck and push and pull.

I've lost them, you see;
I can't recall where I placed them.
I suspect also they might have fallen off
and ran away.




[21:24|28.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Sol in a Vanilla Sky

Slowly deprived of sight,
(Sol in a vanilla sky);
death coupled with fatigue,
and I fell to the sleep of the endless dream:

In an enduring expanse of constellations
flames licked my Achilles' heel
and I saw into futures unknown;
futures never meant to be,
for their breaking of the rules of reality.

So cold and creamy was the atmosphere...
the taste sublime;
the light, crisp and white;
tranquility in truth of all the dream's animation.

How I longed to stay in these worlds,
but their peace is unstable;
so quickly to nightmares they turn
at the slightest tip of the balance;
a world with no limits is corrupted too easily.

We all breathe air,
We all die eventually,
Though perhaps blind to the light of the sun,
one still feels its burn.



[20:58|28.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Fifteen

There are many words
along with their combinations;
but for now I'm satisfied
with fifteen.



[22:02|27.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Cornucopia of Misery

1.
The dark and the stink;
a fermentation of fantasy,
a cornucopia of misery.

2.
Frustrated toasters still in the box;
never been plugged in,
just waiting to burn that bread;
as if they were waiting for ships from the West.

3.
The clock on the wall continues to click
in its internal congregation of mechanisms;
A gyration of its monopoly on time.
Continue to charge me with your touch,
and I will count the seconds precisely until the end.

4.
Reading by the lamp;
focused on fiction;
a thought passes through the mind
and changes my intrinsic nature.



[21:50|27.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Verbal Ornamentation

Suffering
from an inferiority complex,
I gouge my name into everything
I think is mine;
and frame
every stain
as a painted work of art.

These fingers
won't strike the lettered buttons
into alphabetical structure
within the grandiosity of my broken imagination.
I speak so easily without conviction.
My left eye is selfless,
my right covetous to a flaw.

It's a chemical reaction;
when you catch my face in a crowd,
and I return the stare
for a brief moment;
as you seem to finally perceive
my verbal ornamentation;
in all its narcissistic display.



[21:05|27.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Palace of the King

It was in the palace of King David that I first knew real fear.
The forced smoking of the meth was taking me apart;
thought by thought;
memory reconfigured.

I saw his face today;
that demon and his sorceress.
I remembered the curse;
the schizophrenic decompilation.

Burning itching eyes;
control lost over the voice,
and the poison it spewed;
destruction at every angle.

Bones clanking in a xylophone's melody.

The fire!  Fire.

Fire.




[20:37|27.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Bare Hands in the Shale

Dreams in thaumaturgic tidal waves undulating
in the overflow of knitted kinetic pushing
against a hollow heart beat.
Tick. Tick.

I am here for my destruction
I am unbecome in my decision

Cut away the rot;
only for it to re-emerge.
Ruined rhinestone finger-tips,
The massacre of nerve-endings.

There was no cents in this.
By penny, by dime, by quarter, et cetera and so forth.
All are damned in monthly payments,
until the undamning
rising event horizon.

(For now I'll even burrow into the gray ground
for this crude cognizance.)
hemmorhaging money from the tips of chitin;
half-blood stains in prints;

Bare hands in the shale.



[22:41|26.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Broken Saxophones

I want to live on streets
cluttered with bits of broken saxophones;
And where everyone is Shorter and I.

Suck on keys like Life-Savers
Spit out brass like sunflower seeds

Venture a kick or two.



[21:59|26.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

I Never Tired of Your Voice

I never tired of your voice.
Your smile came so easily.

Singing and picking guitar,
piecing the puzzle of language together,
conquering waning tides of emotion.

We wandered far on the road,
my first time alone with you;
A part of me still lives in that memory.

(You were instrumental in my insanity;
Essential in its undoing.)

(I remembered you today.)



[21:37|26.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

I Flew by as a Butterfly

I flew by as a butterfly,
and I have mistaken you for a beautiful flower.
Enamored with the scent so sweet,
and for the time being I am your admirer;

But time passes, and love moves on.
Festering feelings in ancient song;

First I shall forget your voice,
Second I should forget your name,
Third I will forget your face...

Your memory forever maimed.



[21:21|26.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

A Ghost Named Charlie

Once there was a ghost and his name was Charlie.
Not once in his life did he ever shoot anything up,
but he still had track-marks on his arm.
He often wandered bleak halls of asylums,
both in life and death.

He had a tourette's compulsion for a while;
he'd say, "Touch? Touch *metal*?"
and then go for the nearest brass outlet;
this was influenced by 'Drunk History' by Derek Waters;
about Benjamin Franklin's bastard son.

Before he passed on he wrote many stupid things,
filled with pretentious rhetoric.


[17:50|21.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Why Be Me?

Why be me?
Be you instead;
much more unique junk inside your head

junk that might just get me some decent wads of cash
dark memories that might numb my feelings
despair that would cool fiery Hell

All this I could sell

like crack

a never-ending supply of tackling tension



[16:41|21.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

One Thing's for Certain

I go to weddings for the chocolate eclairs,
for the cream-puffs,
for the cake.

Om-nom-nom.

Happy Honeymoon and thanks for the free food!
Hope you do this again sometime!


[22:18|20.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

A Fondit Fund

My heart
is beating too fast,
due to
the memories of the vivid past;
(and consumption of a fool's dose of Excedrin... dumb;)

and the rupture of a loaded gun,
to the grace of a fondit fund;

Now look away from my manger
as I eat the gum of your toes;
only to test the flange of your sumptuous fatty folds.


[21:42|20.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

I Currency in Water

I currency in water
I flotsam in a can
I captain jetsam
and all is "all in a hand"

Flightless wings stretch to the sun
the chamber is checked and ready the gun

I floating on a Tao'd stool
I powder in a drain
I exception in direction
I bothered in the rain

(Kill.Kill.Kill.)
{thou shalt not}




[21:10|20.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Infinity's Glitches

Heaps of brittle bones,
skulls filled with potent orange juice and pungent thoughts.
Though architecturally sound and mathematically correct,
the remainder of our days could be less than one,
more than zero,
or equal to everything.

A stranger to the self,
one could wonder why everything is exceptionally extravagant,
if draped in purples and punctured by shooting stars.

Chipping the obsidian,
an arrow pierces the dying gasps,
and cuts through a spatial accession of infinity's glitches.

"Run-on" you'd say...
and so I ran.


[20:45|20.12.2011]

Slow for a Field

Slow for a field,


take five of an unfixated stare.
I bean the bat
for a ballroom dressed fireball of a spiritual vexation.
What burns after that is left for the smell of the sting.  


Isn't it the question before the change,
or isn't it the change before the final rest in the restroom?


Did she know she'd expire?
The drink and pills taking effect,
no way to stop the ultimate transformation.


Careless
breaths
lowering
in
number...


T-minus the sum of leftover breathing moments.
Cardless structure inside the belly of the leviathan;
reading tarot for the accumulation of meaningless events.  
Sequential spikes in the climate give no further futures.  


Time freeze all tiny tines.
Ethereal addition of sapling sine.










[20:15|20.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Ruin Ruin Ruin

Snapping out of the dream

Back to the boring things

a virtual world never again to be seen

ventures to be soon forgotten

feelings to be shrugged off shoulders

love learned to be truly empty

I can't face what's expected of me.

I'm something not quite human any longer.

I've been ruined too many times.

Ruin.

Ruin.

Ruin.

Wait out Withdrawal.

Drown the Downtime.

Meander through Madness.

They always held their grudge,

as slowly all was lost to the past;

the Cheshire Smile fading...

...never to be seen again.

[22:01|18.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Violence of Decision

Melting glass eyes,

cut off in cut-offs.

So far away from the drink;

not a drop in years,

yet never ever sober;

Addicted to the adrenalin;

the violence of decision.

[21:49|18.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Boxcar Transients

Remember the boxcar transients.

Remember the sagging bags

under those tired, yet keen, eyes.

Fill up your broken eyesight

with the glass shards

piercing every frame of their lives.

Pain too great to ignore,

No room to misinterpret,

No chance to misunderstand,

Silent festering boils in the mind.

Free bird fly,

Mocking you and I,

and they in perfect magnification.

[21:07|18.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Titan Unite Us

I boil the petals without cause;

filter their timorous thoughts,

cool their mountainous regrets,

pour their deadly dreams.

In the final gesture,

the taste is sublime.

Tart and sweet;

able to stain the unready soul.

A deep crimson to the eyes;

an ancient red-violet hue for the tongue,

the perfect perfume for memory,

a virtuous crime to the senses.

Let rain every thinking thing;

Aged and worn as filled with cankering rust.

Titan unite us.

Drink to us to dust.

[20:50|18.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Flea Powder

He just can't give it up.

it's like being tiny iron filings

coming too close to an industrial magnet.

He obsesses with the flea powder;

it helps to overcome the numbness.

He won't work without it.

The block is too hard to climb over

unless his mind is doped.

Bombed he writes moving prose,

vignettes,

vignettes about the social interaction

of his furniture,

about the journey of a small particle of dust

as it floats in the sunlight.

If he were to focus on a single spot on the wall;

I'm sure it would melt and morph

into the most beautiful mural.

It's always like this.

[21:54|15.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Greened Death

Spiderwebs mingle with the strands of her hair.

Tiny arachnids hang from her ears like jewelry.

She lives behind the curtain,

Ironing her spinning robes.

She sells it;

the stuff that defines her;

striking together thoughts that don't mix well;

the substance that poisons unsuspecting poets;

Greened Death.

I need a corner to cry in;

for I know there's no way to reach her mind;

being altered, it is a stranger unto itself.

[21:26|15.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Collisions of Lingua

I could never fully understand your

poetic-complexities; The whispered

words and worlds you put together.

They being haphazardly made from

accidental collisions of lingua;

broken-glassed lanterns and

fingernail clippings, petroleum

jelly and gooey gum-drops, melted

plastic cups and barking wood-chips

I wonder then, if I will ever hear

from you again; The stained cups of

our eyes filling with images

corkscrewed into the very jelly;

'Plop-pop' and removing the

vitreous humor with needle teeth

and syringe-like tongues, sucking

in the haunted reversed images.

I continue now to paint with the

language I still struggle to learn

and retain. Crumbling rumbling

ruins of the forgotten dynasties of

the sky, wrathful in their

thundering.

[20:46|15.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Self-Portrait

Several Simulation

Subtle Stimulation

A self-portrait;

He was a wreck of a man;

even without his narcotic.

Damaged in unseen ways,

bad luck followed him

like pollen sticks to bees' bodies;

Yet now something else inhabits him.

[20:49|13.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Nothing Great

Share a cup of air with me,

frame my picture in the walls of your mind.

Have mercy for my weakness,

for in your sight I am nothing great.

People bury the remains of my memory

in partitions between patients;

my neck is broken and I cannot move;

I can't feel the toes that once touched your floor.

Touch the cold metal with my finger,

Pen my meltdown as you see fit,

Disturb the settled silt in my head,

Carve your name into my unready eye.

[20:31|13.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Calloused

California;

destination for a while.

California;

destination for our style.

And I heard it hurt,

when the calloused fingers struck her face;

the reason she ran;

to escape his blood-drunk temper;

to break the suffocating mold;

to find a reason to smile;

[20:15|13.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Compact the Traction

Lying Lion,

Leo Lean On;

I feel a cutting sensation

In the strings of my vibration;

Let fall every drop of doomed drink;

I've got a coupon for a longing sigh.

I've got a notice for a heartfelt eviction.

I've got a tag for narcotic insulation.

Be my December Queen,

Melting as fast as it's seen;

I angel this snow for you,

I compact the traction between...

A brittle cup and a burdened exhale.

[19:38|13.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Tweaked Logic

Stickler for the Stickman,

strike in sevens times three,

taking toking taffies in tea parties...

pastry for your pride.

Slanting the ante in aftermath,

the hum of the refridgerator refracts reason,

teetering on trifling treason,

meaty in discussions of deciduous psychosis.

Please plant my pain in your exquisite eyes.

My axis of internal organs accepts dull delusion,

as it comes

in the jumps of tweaked logic...

abrasive to the strings of subjective perspective;

And here I object!

With expectations that there are no repercussions.

[18:10|12.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Sticks of Stone

Sticks of stone,

skin of bone,

A fiery upheaval of ancient slag...

the rage of a drunken man.

Clips on the floor, hair so precisely trimmed,

A garage full of boxed antiquities;

Flipper-tipper fluctuation;

Crackled crispy crunches;

Catch fire and burn;

burn the paint out of the darkest places of your soul.

Lift up the lonely lad, won't you?

Hyper-sentience is lonely.

[23:36|11.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Isolinear Generation

Infallible in every integral way

The heart continues to strike the chest away

A lost confusion burns down eyes that wept

Burdens weighing down the backs of them who slept

They lift then,

lifting and lifting higher to celestial bodies.

The dream is created as I walk within it.

People popping into being,

Landscapes in isolinear generation,

Structures forever on endless hills.

The narrow path travels onward,

The scheme to stay is given up...

"Open your eyes, and return to Reality."

[22:32|11.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Tangential Pockets

Fortune smiling fondly on the face of a

dreamer; traveling through time by

perfectly recalling the events of the

past.

What are memories, but tangential

pockets of living intelligence?

The past never dies, and never truly is

past.

Reality is in the eye of the beholder,

yet people are the absolute certainty.

We exist within each other.

Tied with cosmic thread, humanity is the

ultimate manifestation of truth.

[21:27|11.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Warbling Ominously

Cruel wicked wielders of hateful hyperbole,

trembling trenchant with tyrannical torture,

warbling ominously;

These are the malicious money-changers,

willing to sell you to the betrayer...

Killing the hearts of innocents

for the sake of a cheap laugh.

Keeping their audience with fear in the disguise of something 'funny.'

[21:02|11.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Hands Glued to the Keyboard

Computers,

Networks,

Herbert was right in a way,

We already are so very dependant upon them.

However I still love mine, and couldn't get along without it.

I can feel my hands glued to the keyboard, my eyes to the flat screen;

1984, the year after my birth, all again in prescient establishment.

This is the fullness of times.

[20:26|08.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

A Dead Soul

The sadness mixed into the drinking

glass slightly dulls the pain of existence.

Masterful strokes in the painting of thoughts

begin to form a picture that could freeze the

heart in its beating.

Rejected, Rejectee, my core is unable

to comprehend my feelings anymore; and so I

listen to voices rising from the dust, giving

me the truth; yet for this knowledge I still

burn with the pain of a dead soul.

But I don't want to die. Ever.

Here is the end of the world, I had a feeling I

would see it.

[20:04|08.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Mediocrity's Dull Symphony

A mental music miser,

unsatisfied with note-ridden sanity;

irritated at too many architectural buffers;

willing to blaspheme to escape mediocrity's dull symphony;

Compared to the dry ice, the blistering inferno seems nice.

No bones for bread, he eats crumbling cake;

In the middle of the night he bakes blood in cups.

Jazz-stepping to the broken beat of bongo skulls,

a retreat into ritualistic rancor...

Singing in a rankling tenor with the venom of the viper;

An apple to the throat, tango for two.

[19:39|08.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Shades of Revenants

Harder to quit every time of use;

Lessening capability to refuse;

Ugly temptation with promises of multifaceted ecstasy,

only to break into contemplation of agonizing pain...

The fingers know the movements without thinking;

The warning light only appears too late,

'This vessel is under siege!'

Spoken after the hull is breached...

Descending into despair;

Downcast into dreadful guilt;

Surrounded by the shades of revenants;

Submerged in the abyssal pool of filth;

Send down Lazarus to quench my burning thirst!

[16:48|08.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

She Lets Die The Music

An echoing coffin

of well-embalmed instrumental strain;

buzzing bereavement

for sound never soon home,

nay, never remembered more;

She strikes and smooths her touch upon strings;

she lets die the music.

[23:44|06.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Bar Bar Bar

Feeling for a future,

that never quite may be;

Fighting for a failure,

that haunts nightly dreams

Interred indeed for flat-lined musical unbeats;

Fastening belts to seats,

blackening souls to pans,

disintegrating distant lands,

Hungering after usury

Ravenous for labor

Avaricious for the flesh not one's own

Bar Bar Bar

You win.

[23:02|06.12.011]

Chitin Carcasses

The block,

The chip on the shoulder,

The crack in the attitude,

The death by the water;

Nouns and prepositions and nouns;

chitin carcasses;

countless for the character of dead precision,

to flake out as I flake off fears;

in this lonely windowsill...

Purple poesy,

the color for the bruise of affections,

so much in so little time;

make you this connection here,

tie it there and in yonder years;

I ride on low tide.

[22:27|06.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Nightly Nostalgia

Enduring nightly nostalgia;

effervescent thoughts climb high in awareness

and are caught in a precarious position;

teetering on the edge of being totally forgotten,

or forever remembered...

or remembered as the failure to forget;

the paper must always be there;

to scratch in the marriages of words;

How else could they tax language so fairly?

[24:19|06.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Iron-smelling Vitality

I hear the echo of the scream;

how I wish this wasn't real,

how I wish this was a dream.

Painting the foliage, as I pass,

with iron-smelling vitality.

::clicking tips of tongues::

* * *

How was your holiday?

It was alone.

It tears my soul that I hurt you so badly.

[23:54|05.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Drifting Through Faces

Bludgeoning box-car brows in beatitude,

Hammering hostile hearts to gravely ground,

A sound,

A sound I hear...

The lives within are clamoring for attention;

But I am lost in the narcotic,

drifting through faces;

no voice will overpower me.

Begone. Begone you bobble-headed wraiths.

I slam I shut I speak I spell I scream I soft I silence.

[23:36|05.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

The Clouds Travel On

The sand thirsts after which it will never receive.

The clouds travel on;

never pausing,

mocking the dryness of the land of bitter heat.

I have walked for days and days,

finding nothing,

no memory of how I came to be on these dunes.

The horizon does not change,

no matter what choice I take in direction;

this is the endless limbo;

the bridge between worlds

I do not notice my chapped and bleeding lips;

I do not notice the stickiness of my dry mouth;

Nor the burns upon the soles of my feet

All this for the obsession,

The mind singling out the nature of the universe;

To ever gaze upon the sands of time;

To wander inside the hourglass;

"We go forward... And we go back."

[22:00|04.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Red Streaks of Light

The reverberation of the reaction split

atoms and apples alike.

Red streaks of light.

Green go's and yellow slow-me-down pills.

A chance to be far more inspiring;

An opportunity to burn down blistering

barriers...

Feeling the music with my muscles,

sensing the shape of the notes,

ticks and twitches and tremors;

A movement, a division, a redemption;

We all feel for what we lack;

A prayer for humility.

[21:26|04.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Replete Depth

I've suffered at the hand of

insanity; yet somehow I escaped...

my life is meager, I know, however

considering the replete depth

of the schizophrenia, I am

finally waking out of the coma.

[23:23|02.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

World's End

The mental walls to the outside

world grow thicker with age.

Expression is limited to the

cauterized emotion-centers in the

brain.

These hands though, I know they

have the power to write the soul into

the machine. This voice I know

could sing the world's end. I am

barely there in some instances of

the day. Oh to see it all; all of

the unfading undying creation,

and to comprehend it.

[23:08|02.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Another Day Lost

Pain at the sound of the rain

another day lost

quiet contemplation on the train-ride home

combing the memories that survive degeneration

Is it possible for one sentence to change the world?

Tasked with distraction

Paralyzed by inaction

Immune to satisfaction

Push the paradox;

create yourself anew.

[22:14|02.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Hiccups, Hyacinth, Herbicide

Hiccups, hyacinth, herbicide

drowned dictation in double tempo

tried in chips on the glass, sandy ice

the expanse of your super-size

barely-can-walk in your diced isochronal drama

Spinal licks your sass...

Tongues locked up in cursory curses

Nostrils taking offense in affective association

'I can't remember'

The most common denominator in my dead answers.

Xenophobic indeed.

[15:08|02.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Tiny Gossamer Wing

Fly trip-trap flap

tiny gossamer wing

made of caring tin

fleas dwarfed by flagellate

frowning outward, drifting in

hats, drum, window-well...

rising from the shrubbery.

I miss those monsters I called my friends.

I glue and they were rubbery.

[22:23|01.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

All Words Spoken

Sleep.

The shaded night's time-tribute,

in exchange for unearthly experience;

dreams conquering impossibilities...

Someday this calculating mind shall see all things,

as they are,

as they have been,

and as they will be.

For now I remain numb;

blissfully unfeeling;

yet in my flesh I will encompass all words spoken,

and my works and speaking will never end.

Such is the gift to all who would seize it.

Cherish humanity.

[22:12|01.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Sleep Be My Vehicle

Lonely for the lack of like-minded individuals.

I am soon to enter my inner metropolis;

The center of my psyche.

There are places in my mind that are more ancient than I could have ever imagined.

Sleep be my vehicle,

outrun the pursuit by the time police.

[23:46|30.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Fluid Syntax

written in fluid syntax

on the waking dawn of a dream;

on behalf of undeserving,

to her who oft covers her brow in colorful linens

and whose smile is generous;

I myself in this need, so that I may smile as such,

once again...

and exorcise demons created by my own fissures;

I feared to send it,

for I have often misunderstood and missed understanding

[21:21|31.5.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Your Mental Engine's Machinations

Hardly holding it all in,

only for the inevitable release.

Suicidally sharp exhaling of every word

in no discernible order

Your arraignment,

a secret stab to the heart.

Cold-cuts, cured, sliced singularly thin;

phantom fuel for your mental engine's machinations...

On,

into the intrigue.

[21:55|30.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Mint These Coins

Incharitable heart,

adamant to the hardness of stone,

repeat offender,

lesson never learned.

Begin ones again,

follow a two-cent charge;

difficulty of mentation,

'heavy metal machine.'

Mint these silver coins,

dually placed on cold eyelids,

for the price of an everlasting

one-way journey.

[17:46|29.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Conduits of Flowing Comprehension

Conduits of flowing comprehension

horizons of thought disintegration

scaled bodies of water featuring seeping foundations

Dynamic heir

I am no trouble here

Place your years on 'hear'

Listen to the sway of memories

Twisting ladders and fatty folds

Crystal under the skin

For the duration of a moment I understand,

to only have it dissolve in the sea of the mundane

[17:09|29.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Reorganization of Retrograde

A shift in data,

one forward for processing;

a rising generation,

an expunging of excess debris,

a reorganization of retrograde,

"He calleth for Elias!"

the stone of the well,

the silt of the clay,

the water of the wave;

blood of the arteries pump my oxygen,

and let me push out words worth watering.

I read your voice.

Did you ever see the note I left for you?

C'est la vie...

Just another unobserved blip on your radar

[23:30|28.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Swim in the Synchronized

Elder fire burn in my eyes;

the thousand-worded trope of my sight;

Lights begin to flicker

as I swim in the synchronized.

Pay for the poor unfortunate souls,

again and again...

so few so sure;

fewer still fully populated by their entire faculty.

[23:11|28.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Ardent Meditation

Fiery zone of intense contemplation;

Needles piercing the eyes of interest;

We engage in ardent meditation;

Vehement in the stress of

forging metal with bare hands

and piping lungs...

Your smile is chiseled in granite

My warmth is blanketed by snow

Always this barrier between us;

painted with blood and scratches

from broken nails and fingers.

Vanity in the screams of frustration.

[15:53|28.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Chance Subliminal

Fighting for a few seconds here,

struggling for a chance subliminal

to tie your eyes together

in a covetous stare.

Park your view in my wayside,

pay the toll

for the journey of a lifetime.

Stay here in this

infinitely stretching road with me...

forever into the sunset;

'below the threshold of conscious perception'.

[15:33|28.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter