On Tragedy (Or Was It, Triumph?)

melted ice enveloping
it’s 95 outside
I’m wearing a poncho
in a glacial cavern

savage water smacks my face
I turn to see what’s gaining on me
and I’m a bug in a toilet
spinning round -------out of control
the invisible hand presses the lever again

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Eyes Open Wide (, Dear):
rapidly blinking,
darting into every crevice of previously negated space,
curating exhibits,
---------→funding studies on←----------
his [solitary] faith:
peoplelovehatereasoncommunityconsciousnessanevolutionaryedict

(he spits it out
like everyone else
he’s a marketer

illegitimate means in responsible hands;
brought to you by the ‘greater good’.)

Adventures in Gardening (Or, Experiments in Symbolism)

your laughter is a trumpet of approval
on my sorry, punctured soul
and echoes [] in unison []
with my own, miles away

your words flow like the Ganges
and [] deposit in my mind [] :
caressing, soothing, refining;
a sincerely philanthropic mindsmith

your hands conduct me
[] a train on its rails []
to a vaguely known
but long-worshipped destination

{there’s others!}
(they say)
I don’t see them…
but I must believe they exist
{(you’re too far to know)well(close enough to sense)}

but your mind alone
wears the crown
[] [[my mind alone]]needs yours []
(Necessary)---(and stifled)---burdens and demands

{(my mind paints a picture
stitched from the
[.] [.] [.] [.] [.]~41,086 moments-----
(~)25,393 one and a half second clips-----
embodying the time
[]
my eyes
and mind
have known yours(!)
[])[][][])}[][][][][][])}

[] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [.] [.] [.] [.]
exclamation point.

blindfolded--i walk
around a knife store
--deserted and archaic
sometimes i dont know why i'm here

no.
many times i dont know why i'm here
[[[[all the time]]]]

it's a lonely trip
(no one's made it in years)

a butter knife would be
the refreshing, cool side of the pillow

anticipate once and limbs are lost
i'm here; i have no choice
but i can't reach out.

The Kids Don't Stand a Chance

the walls are closing in
but the brightest light shines:
the old crowd is leaving
and the kids are taking over.

I see her mouth and hands everywhere;
like a joker in the deck
it knows no boundaries
and finds a home with everyone.

I haven’t looked
and the walls are gone
there are new ones
but i can’t see what I don’t know exists.

she probably won’t be home for a while,
if ever,
but the door is unlocked
and I calmly sit, reading.

Problems of Consciousness Pt. 2

chaos breeds chaos
a virus
replicating and mutating
into a malignant, convoluted swamp

a scientist in his own life:
poking; prodding;
himself; his environment;
his mind, a rat in a cage

solipsism and narcissism,
sedation and apathy
the resplendent ego
under attack, taking up arms

the two ton death machine cruises
a driver stares blankly ahead:
abdicating, shirking, and dissolving;
the knot is untied and the rope burned

Problems of Consciousness Pt. 1

what will they do together?
what could they do together?
who should they have become?
how useful is a question with no answer?

his dreams and reality blur
while his lens widens
he wants to see the rainbow
but the sorrow grows and faith in good people crumbles

the questions bombard and pile up
future work for a better self
uncertainty and insecurity nullify
loneliness and apathy live where passion once did

he blooms in winter
and his heart is frozen solid
he lacks the will
to find his mind’s heat

there’s a car with no driver
a home with moldy beams
disaster is inevitable
with heroism vaccinated.

(A Misguided) Ode to Dominique Francon (h/t: Dostoevsky)

he shut the door on his own greatness
when she never walked through,
and stowed himself away,
threw away the key

her decision to stay and not leap
is not a puddle splash by a curb;
it is a 50 foot wave
on a honeymoon.

I can’t have her,
well, the world can’t have me.
a whore in its service,
I win because my slavery is chosen

as long as we’re winning somewhere
we’re winning everywhere
the colors of victory, however shallowly obtained,
run deepest in the desperate and withered

a short reflection on 'heroes'

i don't want to be brash but i feel like this is an important moment in my life...i have so many thoughts going through my head right now...but im just going to let them stir around amongst each other and ferment for a while...they're not going anywhere...


i'll say this: i don't think i have any supernatural powers, but i have always felt different and...oddly important...as though i had a purpose that was greater than comprehension would fully allow...maybe its narcissism...but i dont think it is...ive always felt like a hero...not necessarily triumphant and mostly tragic...and maybe its just the natural human tendency to view one's own life through a narrative lens...but i dont think it is...i feel like i am finally, for the first time ever, accepting the responsibility of being Steven Lazaroff. i have looked at it as my responsibility to help advance our species along the evolutionary continuum..for a few years now. and maybe that's not a revolutionary purpose. perhaps many people contribute to such progress. but im no longer shirking my responsibility. i've always believed in the power of Aristotle's, Gutenberg's, and Einstein's, that is to say, the power of the individual to dramatically advance human thought and cultural evolution, and it is time for my life to reflect this.

i'm not sure which part of me is greater: the hero or the coward? but i actually think that is a false dichotomy. i, or we, rather, can be both...from one moment to the next...oscillating back and forth..into and out of nothingness..into and out of Being...from weak willed to strong willed...we are heroic beings all. we are heroic in the sense that we naturally carry both traits within us, but are locked in perpetual conflict attempting to surmount the coward in dramatic self-overcoming and thus leapfrog past the average, past the fence sitters and into Being, into the God potential within us all. we are human beings and our heroism finds itself in its own struggle to exist past the limitations of mind and body, past our finitude.

"We ought not to follow the proverb writers, and 'think human, since you are human', or 'think mortal, since you are mortal'. Rather, as far as we can, we ought to be pro-immortal, and go to all lengths to live a life that expresses our supreme element; for however much this element may lack in bulk, by much more it surpasses everything in power and value (Aristotle, Ethics, 1177b34-1178a3)."