Mount Si Memories – Journal 9/20/18

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One of my friends, Guy Larson, is in the midst of a cool little project with nude photography and creative censorship using lewd poetry and scripture. I, of course, offered my poetry to be used in this endeavor, and as such have been revamping some more organization on the back end.

Unfortunately, as a side effect of all this, anyone subscribed to my site for email updates just got bombed by like 19 erotic poems and I do apologize for that. That’s a lot of erotic poems to suddenly flood one’s inbox.

But because of this, I’ve ALSO learned that my site stopped pushing updates to Twitter, and therefore the Facebook page, at some point in mid-August. WHICH IS GREAT. That’s what everyone wants to hear when they’re trying to get some exposure, am I right?

Which is all fine and well. I haven’t been putting out a lot of content lately, but it still kind of sucks a lot. It’s just annoying to not have a lot of time to make the kinds of content I want to make. Poetry is running out, and I am quickly reaching the end of my rope. Only about 30 poems left to go after the omissions.

I hope to make up for this by introducing more and more video content. And graphic art stuff! I’m currently making a photography guide that goes over pretty much everything I know so far. It’s a lot of fun to put together, but time consuming. I work on it in the middle of waiting for videos to render.

In other news, I’ve finally done it. On September 18th, Mount Si became mine, finally overwriting the last of the symbols from my history with my own associations.

Three and a half hours up. One and a half down. 8 miles. One hour at the summit. And no, I didn’t climb haystack. I’m not quite into the idea yet, especially not carrying my Sony and wearing a bunch of gear. My whole body is still sore from the experience.

I have 40 minutes of 4k, 60fps GoPro footage that’s taken 9 hours to render, and it’s only at 75% done. So that’s good. My computer is in need of an upgrade at some point, that’s for damn sure.

And after that hike and miserable traffic-infested drive back, I went out to the Airport Tavern to take some more video and chat shit about being the house filmmaker. Which is exciting, but I arrived late and no one was in the right mind to talk about business stuff. That was a terrible oversight on my part, but I appreciated having time to nap after the hike.

That’s pretty much everything going on around here. Except the fact that I am going to be a student of Digital Film at the Art Institute of Seattle soon. Still prepping, so maybe not this quarter with everything else going on. But soon.

Thank you all for continuing to tune in. I realize that we’ve been on a bit of a downward spiral, but this is where it picks up: with accidental lewd poetry email bombs.

Consume reality!

Radio Reality City!

Photographer Nine

photographer nine
Canon 1000D, 1/400. ISO-800, 18mm. 1/15/2018, 3:33 PM.

You brought me along
To your version
Of where my life
Was manufactured

Where I was
Taken apart
And put back
Together

So you stand
In the frame
Unaware
Of the stakes

Of making
Your way
Into my
Memories

Natalie

“You’re a psychopath”

First time I’ve heard that
But I never thought I’d
Hear it from you

Wish you didn’t hate me
Wish I could have said
‘Happy Birthday’ instead
Of being struck silent

By cynicism

“You’re a psychopath”
I will remember
The way we locked eyes
And the tone of your voice

Makes me hurt to think
That someone so stoic
Would
Lash that at me

Nevermind the times
I was invited along
To go on long drives
And have days in the city

Because apparently
That was all worth
Just doing away with
Replaced by what?

I’ve earned the title
Of the damaged
Who are abnormal and
Violent

Who are anti-social
And who hurt willfully

Normality
Is so relative

So you might see why
It pains me so much
To hear it from someone
I care about so much

That is, if you even
Believe me

Because I am a psychopath

And I wonder
Who in the world
Would have ever
Told you that

Drake Equation

To sit and think
About nothing at all
Is to invite idle
Thoughts from things
That have passed

The past
Its influence and life
Still alive even after
It’s been dead
But it never left

It exists because
You think
And idle
So when you’re idle
You think

Inviting those things
To come back again
In all shapes and forms
When you didn’t think
You had the strength to

Bring something to life
You can walk in graveyards
And summon the dead
Memories back again
Like they never died

In a state of flux
Always dead because
They will be dead and
Always alive because
They have been alive

Gaia’s Hatred

I am a hungry mass of rock.
I am the ground upon
which you walk.
I heave and speed
through bright neighborhoods,
and cater to your needs
and wants.

I am this force, I am this nature,
I am the apocalypse
and proud life taker.
To rid of sickness,
these steel contraptions,
I heat and cool,
and cultivate disease.
To wipe pestilence
from decaying leaves.

I have many tattoos.
My friends can see
from light years away,
the scars and gashes,
my fingerprints massive,
and how my hands hold
orbit and dance with
the sun.

I could call this arm
a ballroom with nodes
of rock and asteroid brushing
up my arms, and a moon
always following;
from my own young body
was carved.

I am legion to this tribe,
I am harbinger to the song
of life I let live too long
without pruning or
a cull.
To let satisfy these things
I have been colonized
as the place to be by
forces I can’t describe.

They will one day
be so thankful.

Sparrow Two

Welcome to wonderland
Says he
Leading us through a
Woodsy pathway
That winds and twists
Yet he stays ahead
Of us the whole time

Blinking in and out
Of existence

Leading us

Appearing to us to
Let us know that

We’re going the right way

Familiar

Walking with a ghost
On my bones
Possessing my flesh
My melted iron will
Is a welcome shell

Regrowth in your body
Like moss
Retakes your psyche
Is what the ghost
Is telling me

Walking as a ghost
Towards paths found
Long ago by a fetch
Who lingered out of
Body then returning

Turning

Back to look behind
Where the grove once
Made a comfort in
Fortress-like branches
So long ago

Armor and blood iron
Litter my past on the
Ground, eroding, sinking
Being buried, turning
Into rock before my eyes

Turning

Too human in a savage rowld
Destined to never know
For sure how this all
Became or ever discover
Where it could lead

So I’m walking
Through an unfamiliar yard
Being whispered to
By the ghost
From the fortress

Facing down a path I know
Only by deja vu
I’ve got a melted will
To carry me where
Spirits have seen

Turning

Naked on the long road
Trees of a species unnamed
Block the spring rain
Like my home used to
Do before the ruins faded

Turning to face the grey
Unmarked on a map
A cartographer’s fever dream
To go exploring despite
Pain in your chest

As you breathe
Murmuring
Turning to look
As the seasons cycle
Seconds passing by

I’ve never been here
But it feels like we have
Coastlines look the same
To you
And your old grove

So protected until
I step out onto the grass
And curl my toes in soil
You know you’ve felt
This dirt before

Turning into a murder
Of birds sweeping low
Returning
Into murmurations
Of words once heard

Turning
Returning

And
Turning

War Pigeon

Fly
From our metal bunker
Where we might just
Be doomed to die

A message on your leg
You know to spread your wings
And glide
Over the hurt and gunfire

Away from us, to far away
To our artillery batteries
With the message of
“Fire away”

Coordinates drawn
Angles vectored
And they do fire
Will you return to find

A bunker untaken?

Pathfinder

Hot pollen snow
Clouds the soil like stars
Swirling around a galactic core

Gravity’s hand is pushed away
In favor of the cosmic breeze
Whisking them through the day

Leftovers from cast incantations
Spells from a book of maps
Full of blank spots

As it casts through the paths
Found by the pioneers
The world venators

Who rise to the challenge
Of slaughtering flora
In pursuit of discovery

They set out
And find what they’re
Searching for

Pollen dust
Billowing from branches
And weighted leaves

Like smoke from fire
Where there’s a forest
There’s a pathfinder