What cruelty these
Cosmos voice at us.

As context grimly waxes
And ecstacy wanes, the pain
Of not holding you now
Mounts like mounts
Corroding into sunshot dunes
Of expansive, golden deserts.

By recognizing
I’ll one day hold you again.

The insurmounted be damned.


Parting Gift

Crow skulls
Near dark depths

Frequencies emanating
Through the waves
Of waterfalls

Where the cold
Of liquid crawling
Down the cliffside
Terminates in
Navy blue and bright white

Truth Or Consequences – Journal 3/17/18

Let’s talk about quantum immortality a little bit.

It’s when you’re about to shoot yourself in the head, but in one reality the gun jams, and in the other it keeps going. Imagine it like leaping from one existence to the next, understanding the you’ve made that jump and also carrying the knowledge of your life while you enter a different universe entirely.

I feel like this week has been a lot like that.

I have secured permission from Tape to use their song Beams in a recording of “Wrong Number”, as it was originally meant to be heard. Distorted, fucked up, and generally garbled. It will be everything that poem was originally meant to be, and I smile at that.

Good-Planes continues to be a copyright infringing specter, and my last journal has taught me that the one standard they do have is a profanity filter on the bot. Damn…

And I’ve decided to pilot a new new series that I tried to do a very long time ago called Ad Basher, where I take advertisements and deconstruct them to tell everybody why they’re shit and just how shit they are. Especially that 45 second one I had to sit through on YouTube mobile yesterday, that was a travesty. It put me in an angry mood, so I seek to use that anger in destroying the hearts of awful marketing!

Also also: did a massive site-wide redesign to reign in the new era as we near Year V. Indigo is a prominent color, it all looks better on mobile, and I’m making way for the oodles of content that seep from every pore of my equipment. I’m going to need a lot of room for things to come, and part of that is kicking around the idea of going for WordPress business class at a staggering $300 a year. 4K video is, however, quite demanding. It could be worth it in the long run.

Something about dropping near $1,100 on a drone over the course of a month seems like a rational expense but $300 a year seems like more of a dedication. I assumed that’s mostly because it relies on me continuing to make content and do cool stuff that attracts attention. What an awful way of phrasing “do things that I like doing but also have people look at it”. Maybe I’ll bite the bullet when I hear back from UWT about how nice they’re going to be to me.

So the other day, guess what happened? I absolutely drove to Ellensburg again, this time with the pretenses of flying the Monarch instead of just fucking about waiting to visit someone for 30 minutes.

I learned many things on 3/13/18, and chief among those was that there were WAAAAAYYY cooler spots to fly a drone out there along the way than Ellensburg itself. Snoqualmie Pass? Yes, please! Cle Elum! Hell yeah! Why didn’t we stop there and there? Because my head was clouded too much with nostalgia for a summer where I had visited it previously. Wasn’t even that great, to be honest.

So it was with this whimsy that I started up a truck, grabbed a friend, and drove for 5 and a half hours to be disappointed. I got footage, though! Very, very uninteresting footage that I even put in the video itself.

But let’s get away from disappointments and look forwards towards Year V. Year IV begins to draw to a close in this final quarter of not just Pierce College but also this concurrent year of Radio Reality City.

I have a list of things I would like to accomplish when I go to a 4 year school, or something. Anywhere that isn’t Pierce god damn give-me-all-of-your-money College. Where evidently the chancellor has even heard my plight and declared “Oh, the system has failed this student!”, not realizing that it was CONTINUING to fail. Fuck college, I have a drone.

Things look so small on an iPhone screen when you’re flying a DJI Phantom 3 Professional at an FAA-demanded max altitude of 400 feet. Next stops for the Monarch include Tacoma, Puyallup, and maybe even Olympia! I mixed up my schedules and got out with the Monarch much more than I recorded Days of Reality City, so maybe Days will get better in spring instead and I’ll be focusing on the Monarch until then.

Fuck me, it’s already the 17th. Spring is in 4 days. I’ve got 4 days, essentially, until my self-administered deadline expires. That ought to ramp things up.

Also also: lately I’ve been in the market for a new vehicle and for some reason I specifically want a tank to drive around in. I think it’d be fun.

As part of the opening statement’s theme, let’s drop an excerpt of a poem about quantum immortality in here, because we’re in that kind of riotous mood. Here’s an excerpt from “Thursday in the Danger Room”:

“I wouldn’t let it, so through
My helmet burst tendrils
Of old gods to smite the thoughts
That the pain had caused

Splattering my head against steel
Smashing my chest, so it could steal
The last motions of my living body
And keep it standing so bloody

It was already tomorrow,
Said I,
Yesterday, said the cosmos,
And then it was”

Alright, enough distracting myself. Gotta type up some more stuff tonight, because I’ve been writing again and reconnecting and taking photos and something’s gotta give.

Thank you for tuning in to this little update, and consume reality!

Radio Reality City!


Reset to Stock Assets – Journal 7/8/17

Grief in my life has come in waves every once in a while. I can normally track it like the phases of the moon (wow, how fucking edgy of me), and sometimes it reaches out like a rogue wave to capsize whatever high I’ve been on.

I’m currently housesitting, which is giving me time to think again, and when that happens for a long time I of course get around to thinking of everything.

Let me set a stage for you.

In August of last year, I had been jobless for 8 months. I was in the midst of scraping around for a place to land in which I might belong. I had an interview at a local Staples, which is an office supply store. They have a printing department, and I thought with my Radio Reality City-ing I had enough printing experience to take an entry level spot. I was excited, leaving the really good interview. I thought I had something coming, something fantastic that could set into motion a stage of my life.

Through my ex, I was housesitting in North Bend, having all the time I wanted to drink in the sights and think and generally laze about, enjoying the tranquil. I was putting work into this site, of course, among playing Grand Theft Auto V, watching youtube videos, and finding the next artist I could get into. It was hot, I remember. Similar to now and my housesitting gig this weekend. I wrote as much as I could. I think Kjempen was a product of that week, trying to sleep in a second story bedroom with the freeway off in the distance making such a satisfying, quiet hiss mixing with the cool air. Also, the song Kill Me by Xilent came out while I was there, and it only reinforced that symbolism for me.

I got a call while there that I had the job at staples. Age 19, with a job, going to school. Going places. That’s what it felt like. I nearly felt the shift in the direction my life was going, finally something opened up in my road and I could pursue.

I walked out into the North Bend sun in my pajamas, phone in hand, playing the Soulwax remix of Stock by Palmbomen. That moment made me feel like everything was going to be alright. Everything was going to be okay. And it was fucking incredible.

Smash cut to three weeks later when I find out due to some fuck-ups on their end I actually didn’t have the job. And had to take a security guard position. Fun times, life. Takes you exactly where you don’t think you’ll go.

I’ve related this anecdote because I’ve just purchased the original version of Stock by Palmbomen, in an era of my life where I feel like those doors are opening up again. I have a fantastic job that I love, no tuition payments until autumn (my favorite season, and less tuition owed thanks to taking less classes), a car to go places, and a varitable cushion of finances in case anything happens. Say, like when my car continues to backfire even though my O2 sensor is fucking new. Something must be wrong at some point, and for once it’s not with me!

This journal’s excerpt is from “Cutis Anserina”:

“Through the
Snoqualmie Pass

Over Teneriffe’s teeth
And North Bend valley peaks

Embers of Sol
Burn Ellensberg’s soul

As the visible spectrum
Scorches the grass”

In which I write about central Washington. Funny how I’ve circled back to that. That’s grief for you. Rogue waves that just fuckin’ smash you over the head and drown you under the surface of all the bullshit you thought you forgot.

But that’s enough of me being depressing like everyone else my age. Because things are actually pretty damn good when a Burger King is within walking distance and I’m an adult who can choose to go there and spend money and make stupid Snapchat videos. I can spend a night with people I’m interested in and be welcomed into environments I’ve never been partial to. Now I am.

Fuck, I even like hookah now! Never would have thought a year ago that would be something I did. In the spirit of things, today I’m listening to Stock by Palmbomen. Check it out for some psychedelic electro!

That’s the takeaway from this journal: did you ever think you’d be where you are now and enjoying it as much as you are? Take a look around. Be proud. It’s all yours, because no one else is going to live your life to the fullest for you. You have to get out there and do it!

Worst Side of Me

You got what you were
Looking for
I guess

2 AM before a final
A year and a half
After we stopped

2 years and 3 months
After I ripped
Your heart to shreds

Didn’t listen
To anything you said

“I hate that I love you”
I can understand that
Feeling now but

Somewhere deep inside I
That this was something
I took to bed one night

And decided to make it all
Your fault

I guess this wasn’t the
Best thing to do

Playing my cards
And breaking you

Am I over it yet
Or have you just
Raised all the god
Damn stakes

From 39
And years

I guess that wasn’t
The best side of me
When you were crying
Because of me

You got your revenge
With all the quotes
You said

“I wish this past
4 days was just
A dream”

“Selfish as fuck”

Since then it’s been
Washing over me

Feeling it all around

I feel like I’m hexed
Or cursed myself
Can’t ever say enough
For the things I did

I can’t apologize
Or take it back
Can’t punish myself enough
Or take a whip and crack

It across my back
To leave canyons of scars
Arcing across my spine

“Selfish and cold lying
Piece of scum”
Now that time’s past
I can see that’s what I had

“I’m shaking and I’m hurt
And I want to punch you
And I want to hug you”

If only I could see myself
What indifference flowed
Through my hands

If only you could listen to me
And forgive me for what
I said

But now with that mark
You’ve left on me
You’ve gotten your

“Thanks for when
We were together.
I had a lovely time.”

The kind of thing
That should have snapped
Me out of it
And made me cry

Made me realize what
I was doing was wrong

But it’s been saved for
Until now

You will forever
Be a part of me
You will forever
Be a regret

You will always be the thing
I knew I should have kept

Your influence reaches
Into my speech
Into my writing
Into my head

Every day
All day

And not a day goes by
Where I don’t wonder why
I was so stupid and thick

Why I couldn’t see that
You were also the thing
I needed

I live and live and relive
All about us all over again

I live with those regrets
And in the end,
Every day of my life
I think of you again,
You reap your eternal revenge



More bullets won’t save you.

First date at the diner
Shot up.

Some stop at the corner
At a park in winter

Parked car in a lot
With friends,
A bandolier.

Sparks dying on the asphalt
When a cigarette left your hand.

Burn marks on your fingers
Hidden from your parents
When I dropped you off home.

Seeing movies in theaters near us.
Clutching sweaters gifted by bus.

Hope you like the coat
And boots I gave you
For Christmas.

Hope the behind my back
Was worth it to find

Someone else perfect for you
With burn marks on his fingers

Because he also didn’t know
How to even properly smoke,

Bragging about what he drank
Last night because he’s ‘hip’.

I saw his texts on your phone
When you left the room.

Saying nothing is the right thing
To do. I don’t tell you what
Friends you can have

But you know what I do?
I thought it’d be fair to assume
You loved me, too.

Why else would you
Invite me over?

It’s not like I’m good for fucking
If your exes are coming over.

It’s not like you can talk to me
When three weeks later you
Say “He went on a walk with me”.

So we’re done? That’s the excuse?
Said you were moving away soon
But now I don’t even think that’s true.

Had to be a fluke, I thought I knew
How to steer clear of ilk like you

But apparently I didn’t, and you know
What? I fell so hard my feet touched
Hell’s roof.

I wish I could regret the shit
You put me through. Every
Late night call at two

In the morning, trying to reassure
You that your nightmares of

Us splitting up would never happen.
I would’ve been foolish to think
That you’d let it happen.

So we’re done? That’s it?
Just another notch ticked
On the barrel of your gun?

Another pistol hung
Up, retired. Another bullet
Shot and disposed of like

The other five before me
That I had to even tolerate

Knowing were inside you.
I called you a liar after it ended,

But tell me,
would you have listened
To you

As long as I did?
And if I did, there must be

Another poor guy waiting
To get chambered.

I wish I could warn him,
But you know what else?

I hope that guy is the same one
Who also lies to his parents

And doesn’t even know what
The fuck to brag about…

You two are perfect for each other.

Not a Knight in Shining Armor

Not a Knight in Shining Armor

I still had your photos
On my wall and chestplate.

For some reason I hadn’t burned them
Until just yesterday.

So many bonfires past.
I won’t forget some of those ashes.

All hooks in the muscles
Moving my mind through punji spikes,

Trapping the trail I would’ve walked
With hazards to my greaves.

No air to my greviances
Of things so chagrined.

How sweet is this wilderness
One not in steel, full fleshed

From the photos. I can see
My stead from your bay window,

Turning only to be locked
In ethereal shackles,

One of many inmates
Long forsaken.

Your then surface tension
Is a fallacy now clear.

It’s unfortunate I speak mere,
To find out what I think here

All splashed in red ink,
Passionately crosshatched.

When I had to cross out
Your eyes, because you couldn’t see

How there I was, and how adorned manors were.
It took a couple months to see how little you cared.

All at the expense of a knight in worn armor,
Me standing with my sword in reluctant ‘honor’.

Not letting saddles go, you said the world hadn’t seen
The fervor you declared you felt for me.

Tears fell through my visor as a consequence
Of fluttering wings you let get the best of

Someone I was valiantly shielding
And thought was worth protecting.

All along you said, I was the one who picked you.
All along you said, it was this life you wanted.

Come to find that I was all but lied to
By someone who feared being crossed out.

I was just another sellsword in
That ever spiraling life of yours.

Now all of the photos of memories naught
The wallpaper in my manor once with you fraught

Are scribbled in red, but that, you can’t see,
Because you’re still blind and long dead is me.



Waking up at three a.m.
I notice you’ve undressed
Somehow in the interim

Entirely from pajamas
They’ve slid off
Just like my wave of rest

Realizing my hands
Are holding bare skin
And I close in

Ignoring what I know
From yesterday
And the days yet ahead

I thought I’d dreamed of
Sleeping beside you
Feeling your pulse beat

Now as I’m pushing aside
An encroaching fear I push
Blankets between us aside

Maybe this is it
Maybe this all we have
Who knows

No sensation of forthcoming
Pleasure as I wake you
Will push aside that ill dread

No high sighs of your
Stirring voice as I try to
Drown myself will comfort me

Not anymore
No more
To those forlorn

In the dead of night
Someplace we’d never
Been together

Some feelings we’d
Never experience outside
Of the next hour

Gutter turmoil of sloshing
Lusts and desires lazily
Rising to meet what’s next

Trying to look forward to
What might come next
Lost in the waves of blankets

Sweating for no end
No means to reason
The change of season

It was hot in the bed
Maybe it was because
Of that summer dread

It was clear
As I got up to
Open a window

That somehow
This was

This beaconed an

Morose and trapped
Nothing left to do
But to go back to sleep

Nothing left to do
But to lay back
And dream

Try and shut
Out that beaming
Sinking feeling

Wrong Number

Wrong Number

W’re sry E numer yo r Tying to rech
Hs ben diconetd

R is n lnger in srvic

W#’re sry

e num#er yo# #r

T#ying to re#ch H#s be#n

#r is n# l#nger in s#rv#ce

Don’t feel at all
Failed to call

Why is #t t#at th#s
Last dial I hear tone
And you’re th# on#
Hanging up# done

Can’t get the touch
Won’t have enough

Of this elixir
That catalyzed my
Ornate fixtures

All it is to me
To press to see

These things we did
And words we said
Don’t mean anything
All over again

Counting the days
Until the keypad fades


It was my change
Paying for exchange
To speak my mind
Now I have time
To watch the numbers
Count down to
The day when I can
Forget the coins
I threw


We’re sorry The number you are
Trying to reach Has been

Or is no longer in service

W#’re sry

e num#er yo# #r

T#ying to re#ch H#s be#n
#r is n# l#nger in s#rv#ce

W#’r# s## ry

You#have# Reached# The#