Author Archives: pseudonymous

About pseudonymous

pseudonymous

Confronting a black bear 

It’s uncertain how much the ponderosa pine
arches phallically from the dry diablo winds racing
down from the hurricane highlands of Nevada 
taking some of us away in the dead of night
who drove off the invisible roads down cliffsides
no tail lights guiding the way out
whose gone missing in the gusts until it’s over
to be declared charred dead as the night
or our country disassembled into fragments
like candy strewn from a cheap rainbow piñata
all over the ashes to be had for the taking
even if he can’t see it’s black shadow of a face
its paws pound the earth ruffling fallen leaves
the shape of it’s massive muzzle is visible
by the empty space between it’s teeth
as it breathes openmouthed five yards away
like a drum made out of mad savage meat
deciding between running back to the fires
further away up the hill into the unknown
or toward the man firing a warning shot
thunderlegged with his black oak rifle
into the backdrop of spinetingling darkness






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Controlled demolition of society

Sweaty palms that slide down
wherever you end up tossing
a pale down the well at midnight
splashes out of you again—

You’re not above it in the hills
the greydeath of falling dust in the streets—
the dryrun symbolism is enough—

In the dark I listen to your fingers
break one by one and for a moment
I wonder what I’m doing here—

You want to break it
break it away from them—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—

How many times
has the facade fallen—
there’s no better time than now
to drop the complacency
and want something better—

You wanna cry
about how it won’t work
’cause you need somethin’ to do—
you need somethin’ to do—

Yeah—sometime after they did nine eleven—
endless wars and soldier suicides
I think I stopped giving a fuck—
or what was it—the drone killings
growing exponentially without any regard
for the innocent—the widespread surveillance—
oh—maybe human trafficking—
yeah—the kids in Haiti—
Laura changed her last name after that—
it’s no wonder guys are going mad
with guns like they do every day
in countries used as proxies & pawns—
it all just kinda mashes together
after a while doesn’t it?

Or have you spent so long
getting your brain legally stomped in
at the surface that none of this
means anything to you?

U.$.A. flies it’s false flag
wherever there’s a need
for distortion of reality—
there it is right in your face
yet you still can’t even see it—
got a million articles on google telling you
you’re insane for thinking a pizza place in DC
could harbor a “Haitian special”

You wanna play ping-pong
with people and their minds?

Try to make sure next time the guy you pay
to take the fall doesen’t have an IMDB page—
and that your fake French name
doesen’t bring up damning screenshots
from your now private instagram—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—


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Captain’s log 

Some of you may know that I’ve been experimenting with fiction for some time now. After a couple of failures trying to write a novel it became apparent to me I had much studying to do before I could even think about trying again. That was two years ago. Now I have a rough draft basically done on this new project that is currently entitled The Needles of Ahuehuete and 106,000 words. I have it set up so that a part 2 is doable as an addition to the novel or sequel whenever I feel like writing it but I also like where and how this one ends too.

Now here’s where you potentially come into the scene: I’m requesting a hand full of copy readers who are willing to go over it and tell me how much it sucks. If you speak spanish that is huge to me right now as the whole book takes place in cental/south America from the first person perspective of an American while travelling. He knows some spanish and has a digital translator on his tablet but it’s not always available for use. Sometimes the protagonist Tommy has only a sliver of an idea what anyone is saying while other times there is a bilingual character that acts as the stories translator and even then there is a language barrier. Since the translation was done with google I can’t even consider doing anything with this until I’ve had someone whose not a gringo verify it all sounds right. It was fun to write this way though I feel like it simulates what the experience is like… although much more dramatically.

Contact me here if interested: Kontakter

What else? Some notes… I have a burning desire to get good at writing fiction. I love the experience of reading a good book that just sucks you in like a black hole and blows your mind. Am I there yet? Oh hell no! But I’m getting closer every time I try. I’m going to keep trying until I can start selling these things and people love them. I like that poetry is something I have no desire to monetize. It’s my place to play and say and do whatever I feel like. And I like that fiction makes me feel the opposite way and gives me a space to potentially create to market. Even if I never sell a single book it’s damn fun trying.

I get sucked into writing almost the same way reading does. I get to create these worlds and live in them before you do. In some aspects that’s what it’s all about… but that wouldn’t be the whole story.

I just finished writing and am planning on going over it once in the next few days, eating a bunch of acid, and then sending out the drafts when I come back. I already have a new idea for another plot/novel and may just start focusing on that depending on the type of feedback I get. 

Genre: Fiction / Sci-fi / Realism

P.s If it takes me a little longer than expected to send these out don’t trip I will get to it soon… there’s not exactly any time frame on this and it’s not like I’m in any hurry… thx

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Antimatter

Did I ever tell you about the time
I ate two hits of acid
& washed it down with a Heineken
while I was in Big Sur
camping by a river with a friend
I thought it would be nice to go
for an afternoon hike while it kicked in
except I never found the trail
there was this droning sound looming
I knew I had to get out of there before
it was too late
something weird was happening
all of a sudden I felt like a sunfish
in the dust
I needed to go to the beach
at first I didn’t understand it
the sheer magnitude of the magnetism
the metal viscosity of my blood flowing
in these two hemispheres
ringing a screaming buzzing making
the connections between all this with
my hands curling up into my chest—
they wouldn’t budge—
I’ve gone retarded from drinking & drugs!
I’ll never be the same!
The acid was bad!

So I tried
& I kept trying
floundering in the Lexus
my hands wouldn’t move
pinned down curlfisted
I could talk & laugh
but there was a black holes force
yanking them into me all the while
I could sense the magnetic fields coming
off of me & my friend laughing hysterically
making fun of me
was I becoming a dolphin—
was this where I transform & go back
into the ocean like an animorph
right here on Pfieffer beach in front of everyone
past the ranger’s booth who took the 5
Did he have any idea what was happening
how was I ever going to get out
open the door & walk to the beach
I had no idea; I was paralyzed—
time was slowly passing though
whatever happened started to die down
right when we got there only so much
that it allowed me to unpry my retarded arms
from my chest but I could still feel this
overwhelming gravity shooting off of me
pulling into me like I’d never felt before
never felt again—
a lesson learned by poison’s collision
with a sacrament—I walked my magnetic ass
down to that beach with a smile so wide
a beluga whale coulda swam thru it
those translucent dark indigo swirls
in the sand from the volcano spun
all around my feet… the crystalline
glistening… the gravity of every step
moving in a cycling system of energy
the fat man in the wetsuits stomach
started beaming transmissions so I lay
with my jeans my black shirt feeling it
between my toes & fingers for hours
I can still hear the waves lapping
from ten years ago
like an aliens tongue at the spiral caves
inside of me I remember I never wanted
to forget it’s sweet eerie steel hissing








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