Through The Iris of Father Time.

As I look back at the tracks that this train speeds on past


along the last few hundred feet at a time that we pass,



The present seems flighty, cuz I never stop looking


both forward and back at the same time, cooking


up the worst case scenario,
throwing the past back at the future like another Nintendo remake of Super Mario,

only difference is we create for ourselves dark predictions,


the bar so low that we think failure is pre-written


on the walls that illustrate this story of our whole lives


when nobody can read our *whole* story ’til we die.



So as time shifts a digit forward in tonight’s collective dream,


don’t be fooled by the pressure to turn over new leaves,


Life is gradual, yes, we’re all getting older,


but the present is here, now, don’t give it the cold shoulder-


The past and the future – time maps them out,


but the present is the only lens we have to see through, look around,
and figure this thing called ‘life’ out. – RSM

sdrowkcab

nehW I saw gnuoy, ebyam ekil thgie ro enin sraey dlo,


I detrats gnikool ta sdrow, dna dluow rednow


tahw ti dluow eb ekil fi hcae drow ew daer saw delleps morf thgir ot tfel.


I thguoht fo yreve drow I daer ni esrever,


ti emaceb os citamotua-


ti saw ym og ot gniht ot od elihw gnidaer gnihtyna, emityna, tsuj a modnar tibah;


gnikooL kcab, ti saw a citsiugnil tfig fo ym nwo doohdlihc noitanigami.


oS, s’ereh a peed kcabworht,
ot nehw I tup nwod, deppilf, dna esrevered sdrow ni ym elttil daeh os tsaf,


dna t’ndid ezilaer ti saw ytterp ssadab. -RSM

Along The Crescent Moon

As my physical body rests I find a dope lunar crater, as my astral self walks along the sun drenched moon.

I manifest my favorite skateboard, and do a nose grind in a goofy stance along the outer rim.

I feel a sense of clarity as the sun’s rays bounce off and shine through me, a warmth so rich;

The moon looks like a crescent shape from Earth tonight, so it makes sense,

that i look back at a certain spot on Earth, reflect on the very recent past and begin to reminisce…

I’ll remember gazing along the gold crescent moon and finding the hanging star.

I’ll remember the nerves that possessed me, until I realized I wasn’t the only one with butterflies, not by a long shot.

I’ll remember the way I felt when I saw them all, family, old and new, emerging in their Sunday best.

I’ll remember how love lit up the room, a warmth like the sun-a chamber of collective radiance across the river from my mother-metropolis.

I’ll remember having the best view in the room, as the master of ceremonies often does, and before I knew it, my job was done.

I enjoyed it so much, the one thing I forgot was where I put my nerves-they seemed to get lost in the rain and clouds as the bridal party, groom, and the bride walked out.

I’ll remember when the dance floor swelled, and food and wine surfed along as every tune on the soundtrack was somebody’s favorite song,

A certain kind of magic was created as we celebrated, the kind that compels the crowd to just know that this night would be truly special.

Only magical nights like these stay true, as we look back in the years to come.

I won’t remember this dream I describe, nor most others when I arise,

But as I slip further into a deep sleep state, kickflipping on the moon, doing a lil’ sleep-skate,

I look back at that spot on Earth and rewind, to the 1st of December, 2019, to one of my most loved memories; one of my life’s best keepsakes.- RSM

Seven Haikus About Life, And Stuff.

‘Beauty’ is the air

between your eyes and the things

and people you love.

Important moments

pass by so quickly, that we

replay them ’til death.

Intimate moments

with oneself are works of art:

Powerful. Priceless.

Life is a dancefloor,

ballroom dance moves are the norm.

I like pop-and-lock.

Staggering to think

how many realities

we’ve made, and destroyed.

It’s hard to maintain

a peaceful flow, like water,

but fires are no match.

Understanding you

is your most important skill.

You are worth your time. – RSM

Midwest Winter Grievances:

Ice and pavement mix together below my toes,

encased in old boots as I avoid the slick sleet, bro.

shuffling my BIG SHOES slow; that’s the way it goes when it’s Farenheit 32 or below,

and there’s only one frozen path, the only way to go.

All the flowers, birds, beautiful butterflies- THEY’RE ALL DEAD.

Only us humans and other annoying lil’ ICE DEMONS still reside right around us as questionable-ass rabbits

gaze at my apartment building, and scurry right past’it.

Ain’t much positive, winter is the fucks,

got kids digging out the car for like, 10 bucks,

all the animals outside look mad suss

and trying to hibernate on the weekends is tough.

Me and winter go together like bacon and cement,

the winter is a squatter in my life that pays no rent,

But, after 90 days (hopefully) it’s a wrap

Call the cops on the winter, watch them throw him in the back, damn;

Understand, me and Invierno have our moments

But he’s just a bitter old man, and his age is really showing.

The holidays are great, as well as my birthdate,

But apart from that, the winter is an icy ball of hate. – RSM

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

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