Wake up Exhausted by Tegan and Sara

I’ve held the strong belief that certain chords on guitar carry a feeling (like Cadd9), a vibrating set of strings spring our minds to pick up a particular vibe,

our emotions churned by the same chimes over and again, burned into our memories, for better, worse, or all of those places in between.

Songs are the superstructure of these tones, several notes forming harmonies, patterns creating melodies,

as the unique energy they give flows into our mind’s eye, tagging up the walls of our memories.

A certain feeling is cultivated, after ‘that song’ is heard after about a thousand times,

be it a sad, somber thang, a high energy rage ballad, or something very monotone (like ‘Sex & Candy’ by Marcy Playground),

a unique quality – warm, fuzzy, and unmistakeable – calls to our souls by way of our ear drums.

Some songs feel like home, no matter what they sound like, and on its 10th repeat or more, that’s really all that matters. – RSM

Circum Romani

It’s hard to hide ‘the crazy’, it’s bursting at the seams

as our fearless, brainless ‘leader’ yells, rambles, and screams;

It’s a multi-ring circus with the clowns up front,

Disregarding all the crowd’s needs for their own wants.

Waving shiny banners, having us all play along,

Everyone’s hand over their hearts- singing the same song.

We outdo our Gross-Embarrassment-Product, every day,

DC-Puerto Rico-China-Syria-Ukraine,

And you can’t just blame the main idiot for all the pain,

Oligarchy is the team, and oppression is the game.

Sports are a distraction, TV and movies have been

the-opiate-of-the-masses, plus religion? Man, we’re strapped in.

The Roman Circus used to give bread to the crowds,

events free of charge, and the Romans roared loud,

they would cheer when their victims were killed and dragged away.

The Roman Circus never stopped – the show goes on today. – RSM

The Joys of Civic Duty

Lemme get uhhh dozen talking heads with a side of fries,

Pointing-screaming-yelling telling off all the other guys-

-something Wise, like the owl on the blue bag-of-chips,

everybody’s speaking heavy, but they’re not saying shit-

Tired of the tired lines fed from the big rectANGLEs-to-our-heads, entANGLEd-in -our-heads!

I don’t think it matters who I vote for, honestly,

I wanna be a believer, but the bullshit bothers me.

The world is way bigger then a red and blue bina-ry,

But it is what it is, every single prima-ry.

“I don’t want to be involved, no, not at all,”

But I’m compelled-by-some-spell that I should vote-no matter how small,

Bubble in my scantron, take my quick picks,

Slide my vote in, DM it to my district-

Now my “waste of time” light’s already blinking,

aaannnd back to my cynical way of thinking. – RSM

The Astral Movie House

What if right after your death you find yourself alone, in a one-seat movie theatre, where you arise as if abruptly woken up from a dream.

Your ideal self-image from your life’s memories is manifested, and you look and feel, by your own opinion, as the best you ever have.

An 70mm film projector flickers, and begins rolling a film onto a realistic-as-life screen directly in front of you. A classic black and gray circular countdown starts backwards from 10, in the clearest picture you’ve ever seen, anywhere.

The film begins. Your earliest memory in life plays out as the first scene. You are taken aback. Your emotions criss-cross and crash, and finally, you understand: ‘heaven,’ ‘hell,’ and ‘purgatory’ will all be experienced here, in this single-seat movie house. You’re free to get up and leave at anytime, but the thought never occurs to you.

It all comes back, a full recap of your now-past life. The best moments invoke laughter, tears of joy, leaving you feeling like a rejuvenated soul; while the worst ones trigger despair, regret, and unkempt anger, mostly directed at your past self. But not fear. Fear is for the living.

The movie ends, and as the credits roll, every name of all your loved ones, friends, family, co-workers, people you met just once, all scroll along. You are credited as the lead role, and the director.

There you are, alone in your own private astral cinema – lessons learned, emotions drained, and at peace with your past life – a catharsis unmatched.

There’s a red EXIT sign to the right. A force within you questions where it leads, and beckons you toward it.

You rise from your chair, and walk toward the EXIT sign. It leads you around a corner to a long, maroon-carpeted hallway ending with a single door. It’s an industrial dark gray, with a few scratches, and a worn black and gold PUSH sticker on it. You stop at the threshold, take a deep breath, push it open, and walk through.

You new first memory starts. – RSM

ENERGY Falls.

Even in the healthiest of realms, my energy has kinda sorta felt like it’s

iN and out of a dry spell.

thE day’s only just reached a bit past 12 and it’s getting less

raRe to feel only semi-present at best, just maybe almost halfway ‘there.’

gauGe nearing ‘E’ on my mental fuel tank, lights flickering, like the bulbs at Shawshank-

partY, work, home, chill, whatever I do-my mind’s highways are slowed by a delay in my brain synapses’ commute.

 

brainFog’s been the forecast, no choice but to try and push past the

windblAsts that veered off course my last 3 out of 5 tasks.

the depLeted memory/energy ranks pretty low, whether I feel great or plain negative,

it’s bipoLar country we’re in, where dry spells silence the once wet wells and the rivers

flow-in’, aS

                     E N E R G Y  F A L L S, the river below flows, with much more kept behind the Lithium Dam’s walls. – RSM

A Cool, Quiet Mind.

Stare it down,

like your destination is already the place that surrounds you.

Stare it down,

the farthest part of the road ahead that you’re walking down.

Step by painful step, carry on, and adversity will give in,

for you are the one who will triumph;

Adversity is just the means to your ends, the road taken toward tranquility.

Patience, restraint, a cool, quiet mind-

these will turn the very obstacles that block your way into weapons you wield at the wicked, and unworthy.

Stare it down – the path, as you walk – and see how fast it begs to get out of your way. – RSM

Mind, Body, Soul, Music.

Moving to the music being pumped into my ears is a second nature; only breathing comes before it.

Sitting on a bus, going somewhere and a half, my foot moves around like it’s conducting an orchestra of what’s coming through my headphones.

My fingers tap the sides of my phone,
Head nodding subtly to the rhythm;

It’s only when I ask myself “What is there to write about?” that I realize that the music has already taken me –

Sending 4 over 4s through my veins, bass and treble through my capillaries,

nervous system fully synced with my current bop’s beats per minute, and I respond accordingly –

even while typing this, my subconscious is a subwoofer, the way I move to the music without thinking; my crown chakra tunes in to the tune’s vibrations.

I almost miss my stop, and I hurry out the backdoor, but from my seat to pounding pavement, I haven’t missed a beat. – RSM