The I irrelevant

The I/irrelevant.
 ××××13×××××××××

Because "they" try
To
Make The "I" irrelevant,

The
I
Finds Them to
Be
Irrelevant;

But there is
A
Sad relevance
To the
irrelevance
Nonetheless ,

which seeks to
Punctuate  (with
A Question Mark)
Feelings that deserve
Our Sicerest
Exclamation. (!!!)
+

Ask me why
My Heart beats
Within an Odd
Parenthesis?

(Because it's
Safer In Here.)


"Here" there
Exists
A semi-colon to
perpetually expand
upon;

Till The World
Itself
Becomes An
Ever-Sentence
written by
A
Pen with ink
That
Does Not
Dry!!

(But Lives
On
Forever in
The Pages of
Ones
Never-ending
Soul.)

J.Stephen.H

Pissed stained park bench

Revelations from
A piss stained park
Bench.
×××××××××××××

I met God sitting
on a pissed stained
park bench,

mumbling to himself
about not
Winning the Pulitzer
Prize;

I could barely stand
The Mortal Stench.

But was drawn
To
Tragic Comedies.

(Laughing in his
Eyes.)

+

"Have a shot of
Holy Wine."

He said without
A Smile.

"It feeds the poor
and makes them
Swine."

(Or puppets in
Denial.)

I took a sip
and passed it
back,

Then felt
The OddesT
Chill,

Which made
My
Unborn Spirit
Laugh!

(agsinst it's own
Freewill.)

"Have another
Sip."

He said.

As the world
around me grew
Unlevel.

"And deny
That
Cannibal
Monkey
Bread!!"

Baked
and
Served by
Frauds!

(and
Devils.)

×××××

I then
Left God
Mumbling on
A
Pissed stained
Park Bench.

But still visit
him
From Time to
Time,

Ignoring the
barely tolerable
Stench.

(That I realize
was Mine.)

J.s.h.

the discluded middle

The Discluded
Middle.
×××××××××××××

Here (in this now)
Between Chaos and
Disorder,

I Exist as the Gray,
Discluded Middle.

A whisper amongst
Screams who's
Ineffectual utter does
Not

Change nor alter
Anything.

My
Head is a battlefield
Of

Ages come, and
Passed.

Which shall come
To pass again.

With me..

Still standing between
The Absurdity of all
Extremes.

(A whisper trapped
In
A
World of Screams.)

J.Stephen. H.

Houses of the damned

Houses of
The Damned.
××××××××××××

Those who
laugh
In the Face
of the holy,

shall
Weep Eternally
in
Houses of The
Damned.

But watch..

for
The universe
doesnt
Always send
a lights,..

and shadows
often guide
You
To The Brightest.

Then a trembling
Came down from
Mount Me,

(I feared it.
Thus.)

It had my voice ...
As one Drowning
in A Troubled
Water ;

Devils wept, and
vultures
Fled the Red Dead
Fucking
Sight
Of It!!

2
----

Gai heard me
in
My despair,


Awakening from
A
Terrible Sleep.

She had rotted
Moonbeams in
Her hair!

And smiled
with
The countenance
of
The Deep!

(Which sings
The soul to all
Or nowhere.)

an indecent proposal from the mind of a madman.

an indecent proposal
from the mind of a madman.
+++++++++++++++++++++++

hello stranger i love
you do you want to
fuck?
ill likely hate myself
in
the morning, but i hate
myself
now so whats the
difference?

(nevermind. i
hate
you. but i might
love
you later on enough to
make hate a
memory.)

but just because
i hate
you doesnt mean
we cannot
fuck

youre pretty (for
a
psycho) and im
a psycho
so it seems to make
perfectily
illogical
sense that we would
fornicate like psychotic
apes
trapped in a wilderness
of lust.

++++++

2 hours later.

they wake up.
she slaps him.
he light a smoke,
whispers "and here
i'd thought you'd
still respect me in
the morning love.
i hate you. nice meeting
you. goodbye."

(the end. thankfully.)

jsh

a rainbow/rose analogy

a rainbow/rose analogy

+++++++++++++

when she asked me what
i thought was so
unique
about her face I
said:

"it contains traces
of every emotion
at once;
each battling the
other in a contest
to see which feeling
will reign supreme.

you're like a rainbow
constantly dying only
to be reborn again in
the
midst of some
mysterious
storm.

or if you prefer a
flower analogy in
comparison to your
beauty, you are like
the only rose blooming
in a
field of dying
thorns".
j.stephen.h.

reflection upon a rich mans passing.

reflection upon a rich mans passing.
++++++++++++++++++++++++

the corpse didn't even have
a
chance to cool before everyone
he
loved who supposedly loved
him
started fighting viciously over
all
of the material shit he left behind.

a few people made half-hearted
attempts
to glorify him and his many real
and/or
perceived life-achievements,

but at the end of the day i felt
sad
for the bastard.

(and pretty damn happy that i'm
poor, and will likely die so.)

j.stephen.h.

the gymnast

The Gymnast.
++++++++++

I never knew my
Heart
was A Gymnast
till

it Flip-FloPPeD
across
The Dirt Table

when
she
walked into the
room.

I immediately hated
her,

(and myself for hating
her)

because Beauty
makes
me Powerless
when trapped in
an Angel's
Stare.

+

i won't say
hello.

i won't
say Hello;

because
it opens the door
to
Goodbye!

(and Goodbye
Never
Lets Go.)

+

after half-successfully
taming
The Unruly Gymnast,

I stare across the room
wondering
if she ever looked at me;

(probly not)

and
that Olde Familiar Numb
flows
through me till everything
is

OrdeReD
AgAiN.

Then say Farewell
to
Love I have Forgot!

(hello to Cheap ass
Gin.).....

JSH.

of course i love you.

of course i love you.
+++++++++++++++++

of course i love
you.

like the dead
love
breath

(or
it's
Memory in
their
Dreams dancing

through a wilderness of
hope

mingled with Pathetic
Unbelief.)

+

i love you to the point it
drives
me crazy

enough to become sane
again

without realizing
there
is anything Real!

(i love you
so much
my heart stutters
and can
barely feel.)
+

when we lay our
heads
against

Tombstones of LosT
Souls

(watching
the
sky for
Rebellious
Stars.)

I feel so damn
alive
I think I
might Die Inside!

+

Everyday with
you
(In My Head)
is ..

A Lovely- Living- Death
I'm
Truly Grateful For
Because...

(it's probably the
only
thing in Life that
Was
Ever Fuckin
Real.)

so,..
thanks...

(Imaginary Love.)

j.stephen.h.

who asked to be normal anyway?

who wants to be normal anyway?
++++++++++++++++++++++++++

our lips met in
such
a
mutually un-beneficial (ParasiTiC) tYpE of WaY
that even
the most optimistic of
souls would not have
considered it a
kiss;

but
for us
"inhuman-none-
too-human
types"

Irony is Normalcy,

and

subtle meaning lurks
Within Each
Contradictive Frame.

+

Oh,

i
love you
dear!

but You Are
My
Tragedy!

(and
my tragedy
is
God's
Shame.)

+

when the moment
broke,

her
eyes broke
me
beyond feeling.

and
I died in there

somewhere in that
Un-Kiss/

Rainbow -Killing
Kind

of
F?cked
Up
Tragic
Smile!!!

that
Always
lets

us know

how
Goddamn
Odd We
Are!

(but
who
AsKeD to
be
normal
anyway?)

jsh.

in the blackness of unrepentant stars

in the blackness of
unrepentant stars.
++++++++++++++++++

love always
lights
up faces like
candles

in the dark,

ensuring
that
shadows
will
Flee from it.

but when your
shadow
falls in love ?

It is then
The
heart becomes
an abyss
no
 kiss could
Hope to fill,

and
life starts to
feel
like
a slowly moving series
of pictures


capable only
of
capturing the
irony
in everything;

(to the
exclusion
of
any
sound
meaning.)

and angels?...

angels!!!!!???

(they hide in the
blackness
of unrepentant
stars.)

jsh.

the angel KilleR.

the angel killer.
______________

His Smile was an
angel killer;
or
Destroyer of inner
worlds.

(but her eyes
were
stones no smile
could
ever to touch.)

damn.

talk about
an
impasse.

it seems
heaven
and hell have
met
their mortal
match.

(love's
contradiction
abounds.)

j.stephen.h.

the grim heads odd

tHe gRiM hEaDs
 oDD..
+++++++++++++++

(Could Any
True Love
be contained as
an
Afterthought?)

can
I transcend The
Grim
Heads' Odd?

(parenthesis)

or
get back in touch with
God!?

(before my Devil/Self
destroys me.)

damn!
(i'm stuck again)
please...

break
these chains i made in
youth!

(cure my Wretched Hearts
Disease.)

i
eat hells flaming
sand,
(to ease my thirst)

and
walk A
Sad Unholy
Land,
wondering
what Bit First!!

(The Feeder or his
Hand.)

+

(could all this hate be
contained
as an Afterthought?)

can
i escape?

(The Grim
Heads
Prison.)

oR
Regain Faith The
Son
is Risen!!

(and
become a friend of
god?)

j.stephen.h.

faith it boasteth not

faith it boasteth not.
________________

overstate
and
understate....

how
many
meanings
does
it take?

(to make
a
Statement
Great.)

My
Personal
Truths
are
Lies to
You.

but..

It
never Bothers
Me.

All
have Pits
They
Fall Into!

(though
some Defeat
Life's
Tragedy.)

+

Born
again.

Dead
Again.

How
many
Re-Births
does
it take?!

to
Transcend
beyond
A
Mortal
Sin!

(and
End The
Pointless
Hate.)



+


My
God is
stronger
than
your
Devil

so your
denial
doesn't
bother
Me.

because..

True
Freedom
always

Requires
a
Rebel!


(Rich
in His
Spirits'
Poverty.)

+

Overstate
or
understate..

it
truly matters
not!

For
Deeds shall
never
Rival "Faith!"

(and Faith
it
Boasteth Not.)


++++
this One Is
for my aunt and uncle
Rob and Shelly Davis.
Two Bright
Souls who have inspired
me to Transcend Beyond
my Inner
Darkness. (and face the
shadows which lurk within
me.)

You can never completely
destroy your shadow, but
you can enlighten it...and
get to the point where it...
occasionally smiles. (and
that my friends is a Victory
over the darkness which
attempts to deceive those of
Faith (or cautious Hope.).

Rob and Shelly,...
I
love you guys.
(thanks man.)

j.stephen.h.

a soul of endless beauty. (that my absence fears to touch)

a soul of such damn beauty.
(that my absence fears to touch.)
+++++++++++++++++++++++

oh
love!

you
are
a soul of such
damn
beauty that my
absence
fears to touch.

may my words
never
Corrupt.

and
may there
always
be
better worlds
to
dream!

(from
This Nightmare
where
we're Stuck.)

Passion
sings a
solemn
tune

when i think
of
you at a Distance,

but
i'm happy as
one
could
ever be and content
with
Reminiscence!

(of Better
Times
Now Gone.)

+

I
Love you
Love,

like Flowers
love
the Dawn,..

for
That Smile on
your
Face redeems
me!

(of the
Wicked Paths
I've
tread upon.)

i
love you
love.

(a soul of
endless
beauty that
my
Absence Fears
to
Touch.)

j.stephen.h.

dead stephen

dead stephen.
+++++++++++

Is there life in this page?
(quick Dead Stephen, check
it's pulse.)

Dead Stephen is a Martyr
of His Age.

(who made an Angels
World convulse.)

no..
there's no sign of love,
nor life.

(dead stephen sad
exclaims.)

Only Romance with
A
Knife!

(which KisseS
roTTed VeinS.)

+

Dead Stephen
thought
she'd
Love Him Back,
(if only he were
Different.)
and
Heal His HearT
of
every cRacK!

(but it
only
brought HiM
TormenT.)

+

"oh,..
The smiles they
mean
so little these days!"

(dead stephen
screams with
rage.)

"that i often
scare
them all away!"

(or BleeD them
LifeleSS from
ThiS PaGe.)

j.stephen.h.

the fang fairy.

the fang-fairy.
(a stream of
consciousness
experiment.)
++++++++++++++++

when
i was a kid

i put a
monster-tooth
under
my pillow

in
hopes
the
fang-fairy
would
come

and
Leave
Behind
An
Angel's
FingeR

that
points
The
Way to
Somewhere
better

than
ThiS
TwIsTeD.
pRiSoN
in My
HeaD!!!!!

but..

the
Fairy
left
a
DeViLs'
BroKeN
middle
finger
instead...

(so
I guess i'm
fucked.)



j.stephen.h.

a beautiful field of rosey bullshit

a beautiful field of
rosey bullshit
+++++++++++++

Sure it's bullshit. pure bullshit.
but A Beautiful Bullshit that others
view as a Field of Roses, because
most want it to be true so bad
that they (in their irrationally
heartless heart of hearts) ignore
the wretched smell.

I consider it to be a Psychological
Mechanism of Defense, which
the mind adopts in order to prevent
the ego-consciousness from
suffering an unendurable trauma
that would probably quite literally
destroy our fragile Self-View.

+

Everyone talks about the truth like
they know what it is; but no one
SPEAKS the truth; if they did they
would freely admit that we're all just
scared puppets of design wandering
aimlessly through a hostile universe
where nothing is certain but an end
we may or may not transcend after
death.

so. what shall it be for you today
fellow dreamer? Bullshit or a Field
of Roses?

(and how the hell can anyone tell
the difference?)

j.s.h.

a brief philosophical ranting on the laws of attraction.

a brief philosophical ranting
on the Laws of Attraction.

++++++++++++++++++++++

when it was said "ye are
gods" the intent was literal.

but
the law of attraction is often
similar to
a star imploding in on itself
which
creates a continuum of
self-maintaining phenomena
resembling ouroboros,..
to the extent there is neither
loss, nor gain, but rather a
perpetual state of eternal
recurrence.
(though some eventually
get out of the machine.)

contrary to many popular views,
i think true spiritual evolution
occurs
once an individual breaks away
from The Source and becomes
their
own source.

A lot of theorists
will preach about The
Unification of
Many Thinking
Parts to become
Whole/One,
but such a thing strikes me
as an absurdity which is
contrary to true individualism,
and quite dangerous for
Personal Identity.

Separate Thinking Entities
can of course share a common
goal, and work together for A
Common Cause, but should do
so as Individuals rather than
Beings Intent on Becoming The
Same, or Part of The Same.

(what nietzsche said about
The Madness of Flocks is somewhat
relevant though he was referring
more to religious thinkers in general
and christians in particular.)

ah...the old "I" Inside dilemma.
will it ever be truly resolved? or
are we/I/You/Me/It just fooling
ourselves into believing the universe/multiverse
is something more than a Cosmic
Toilet that we shit our thoughts into
eternally without ever really knowing
a Particular Self?

(guess I/we'll see.)

j.s.h.

the berryman conversation

the berryman conversation

+++++++++++++++++++

I was at the bus-stop

today reading a book.

john berrymans dream

songs.

(berryman did a flying

squirrel off a bridge in

minneapolis. there's

somethin about those

suicidal poets which

has always intrigued

me.)

and

one of the city's more

popular derelicts sat

down next to me and

asked if i had a smoke.

"yeah sure." i got a

smoke. i said, handing

him a couple.

"thanks" he said.

before asking:

"so. whatcha

readin?"

"berryman."

i replied.

"he was a

poet."

"oh. he any

good?" he

asked.

"some people

liked him, some

didn't." I said.

"its like that

with any writer.

you have your

lovers, haters,

and otherwise

indifferent types

who don't care

either way."

"wow. thats

deep." he said.

"nah. not really."

i replied.

"my dad used

to tell me that

poets were writers

with bad grammar

who were usually

unable to write

novels." he said

laughing.

"yeah?" I asked.

getting curious.

"yeah."

he muttered.

then got up

and walked away.

++++++++

after he left i started

thinking about what

he said.

writers with bad

grammar who usually

can't write a novel.

well.

I think it's more

likely that a poet

is a writer who can

speak novels in

fewer words and

simply replaces the

more traditional

paragraph with stanzas

and sometimes rhymes

for creative effect.

but im not one for

artistic debates.

you can chew up

a blue sucker and

spit on the sidewalk

and someone might

see profound art in

that.

look at jackson

pollock.

that guy literally

stood around dripping

shit on a canvas and

impressed others enough

that his works are now

worth millions.

apparently those drips

contain worlds of thought

in them and make

"profound social statements

about modern life in the

midst of class struggles

and yadda yadda yadda."

perhaps one day someone

will

look back at this narrative

ranting

and find meanings contained

within

that i never intended and

that

will be meaningful for them,

or

an entire group of "thems"

who

are influential enough to sell

others

on the idea that i had something

truly

useful to say about starving

artists.

(when i've really just

been splattering shit across

a page all these years.)

j.s.h.