A disillusioned laboratory animal confronts his trainer

Crap.  The stick again.  Why not the carrot?  I have been pulling this lever for hours, and no food pellet.  Why must everything shiny come with an electric shock?  Why do I never learn?  What are those funny symbols printed on the clipboard?  Where is my sugar cube?  Never a sugar cube, only a shock.   Only the wire monkey for me.  Whatever is at the end of the maze, I do not want it anymore.

A lovers lament, in solution

I just got over you, Hydronium ion, and here you are, back again.  You come and go from water molecule to water molecule as if it means nothing at all to you.  But I know, deep in that impenetrable nucleus of yours, we all mean something.  Just milliseconds ago, we were sharing our every electron.  My magnetic dipole became a song, a lover's song, and we resonated.  Now, these electrons are what they were before, a shell.  I can fell their probability fields shift in your direction as you enter my possible futures again.  This can only stop by our eventual evaporation.  Isn't that true, Hydronium?

an idiot's lament

i am so bored being happy.  i need to cause trouble for myself.  i need to shake things up.  i should drink bleach.  i need designer labels.  i only drink imported vodka.  i could use some meth.  i want to wave my dick at traffic.  i want to tie someone up.  i should be drunk doing this.  i am high writing this, but not high enough to write more than this.  spoons are shiny.  spoons are shiny.  spoons are shiny.

A muon speaks

Time waits for no being.  The irreversibility of evolution is consequential in this regard.  The cosmos contains nothing inevitable, except, perhaps, the hydrogen atom.  Make this nanosecond last.

To Hera

Hera, cow-eyed beauty, you are a sane mind among millions unsane.  You are a distant planetoid, cold and blue, like your eyes.  On autumnal plains, an oak grows in perpetual twilight.  Nestled within its tangled branches, a multitude lurks.  Like a willow in the wind, you bend.  Water carves stone.  Land drifts, imperceptibly on currents of invisible lava.  Stars grow heavy with helium.  Breathe, Hera.  Silence.

Pluto, I am breaking up with you

We have had a long orbit around the sun, and it has been nothing but good times. This is it, though, this is the real thing. You are not a major planet anymore. You are a dwarf planet, or as you like to call yourself, a Kupier belt object. Whatever. Seriously, it is over, but I still want to be friends. It is better sooner rather than later. I have been seeing another planet anyway. It is Chiron, the one you told me to stay away from, because its orbit is unstable. I don't care, I want Chiron now and I don't want you because that is how I feel and I don't have to justify it to anyone. Not to you, not to anyone. You are a frozen world on the edge of darkness, and though I find it terribly sexy, it has its limitations. You reflect so much of the light that hits you. You are covered in frozen methane. Nobody has ever taken a decent photograph of you. You are mysterious, yes, but your are not a real planet. Chiron isn't either, but he is temporary, and when things get serious, I want it to be with an object that has a stable orbit that is coplanar with all the other planets in the solar system. I want harmony, not chaos, Pluto. Be jealous, Pluto, but there is Eris out there and I know you have been checking that one out. Enjoy your frozen orbit. Enjoy the death of the sun, when it comes. We are through, but I still want to be friends. I want to see that beautiful shadow of yours cross the orbit of Neptune and know that you are out there. I want to remember the mystery of your discovery and think that it was you that was planet X, and be grateful that I got to spend so much of my time with you. I want to remember your deep shadows and starry nights with feelings of nostalgia, and nothing else. Not regret, not bitterness, not sadness. Maybe a little sadness.

to my lover, the demon hydra

it keeps coming back to this. i long to spawn with you again-to see my flesh dissolving in a spiral of cells in the water, to feel the fatal eruption of a million embryonic cells fleeing, in cloudy ripples and waves in the water, from my body cavity. My paired appendages listless behind me, tentacles and eyestalks enraptured and exhausted, i beget instar after instar. Creeping abomination into this world. Our encounter will draw blood from both of us. Our union is a thing of unspeakable, unimaginable evil, of horror. It is lovely to be with you. Your blackness radiates like cold from a dark window, all smoke and negation. At the center of it, you are a one hundred armed Kali: are breasts and blood on your lips, arms and legs undulating in beautiful waves, like feeding tendrils, a lipstick-clad maw at the center. together, we will once again beget multitudes. our progeny will devour the earth.

for the Hyaena queen

Hyaenadon, mighty striped beast, killer in the night. In sheer spectacle, I gaze upon your lovely black hide, your striped back, your keen visage. You are a poetry of fang and sinew, tooth and madness. Lovely, your tail lashes back and forth, your hot breath at my neck, your tongue wresting forth from your mouth, agape and smelling of blood. Queen, empress, your savage penis entering me.

The Thirteen Words of Khaza Sool

A sultry night hung over the black forests of planet Moog. Deep within it, a million million creatures slept, and a million million more crept through its lush shadows or set aloft into its moonlit skies. All four moons were visible tonight, trailing each other in an irregular line across the heavens. Beyond them, the stars of the spinward marches, realm of the Imperium. Tonight, a warm breeze welled up from the valleys, bringing with it the smell of Kaur beast, and of the manlords that hunted them. Also drifting up the music was the sweet music of the lowland barbarians, proud and dangerous. Kyrie, princess of Nomia, leaned against the balustrade, her black hair blowing in the gentle wind. Her brown eyes sparkled like twin diamonds, her blue skin a ghostly white under the light of the four moons. It was a beautiful face, with high cheekbones and a cruel red mouth, caught perpetually in the act of half-smiling. To the stars of her ancestors, she pointed, one after the other, until all seven suns had been located. Her hand fell through her hair and down her subtle blue cleavage. Black, bejeweled, and polished, her ten nails slid under her spidersilk dress, brushing gently over a soft black nipple as they fell, further, to her hip in a gesture of impatience. She was filled with a hunger she could not possibly sate. There could not possibly be enough love in this palace to fill the need within her. Still, she would not give up the game. Strutting back into her gallery, the space princess called to her manservant for a glass of wine.

Chalybion californicum speaks

I am a lovely, silvery blue, my finish like chrome. Please don't hold it against me, spider, that I must lay this egg on you. You are paralyzed because I injected venom into your brain, and destroyed your ability to anything about the horrible things that are soon to happen to you. This is how I make more copies of my kind. For that reason, my beautiful child will hatch and devour your, slowly at first, drinking the fluid from seeping wounds, until eventually she will end your life and eat those parts of you that she cannot devour without doing so. You will feel every minute germ of the pain. I have not dulled your agony, but I have taken the liberty of stuffing you into a deep hole with no possible chance of escape. There, you will wait with three other captives, who impotently fear for their own destruction. They will be devoured next. There is nothing that can be done about any of this. Wasps must exist to destroy spiders the way spiders must exist to destroy moths and there is no grand purpose to any of it. None at all. Eventually, my child will consume all of you, even those spindly legs of yours, spin a cocoon, and in her time, destroy other members of your species. I destroy and destroy again. This is who I am and I am lovely for it.

the square root of negative one finally speaks

face it, i am the only solution to your equation. you dismiss me because i am not real, and it is true, every damned word of it and more, i am imaginary. i am i. look for solutions to the situation you face, and deny it as you may, there is only one solution to your quadratic. it is akin to the solution Kepler faced when he stared, long and hard, at the circles of Copernicus. they did not fit the observations because the solar system is not made of perfect circles. there is no hand of god because there is no god and therefore planets orbit in ellipses. an extension of this is that negative one has a square root and it is me, here i am. maybe it is because you include so many negative values, or maybe it is because you are made of radians in a Cartesian world. I think the latter, rather than the former. i should know. i am the square root of negative one. in some circles it is said that i should not possibly exist, and yet, here i am. in the hands of a true mathematician, i can sing.

A Reverse Valentine

I think I am finally free of the blood bond with you, but then again, I think that may be self delusion. It felt painful to cut it, with that rusty laboratory knife, but then again, i can see why it had to be done. I hated you for the first incision. I did not want to sever my ties with your, my twin, my blood demon. I wanted you with me forever. It hurt. Finally, there was something missing every moment of every day. A purpose for doing things, it was gone. It was as if a light was extinguished and suddenly, i could see an empty world that had been so invisible for so long. Space harpy, you know so much about me. I am nothing but stronger now, and you are feathered with such colorful ribbons that did not exist before. Somewhere, I hear, there are sea slugs infected with photosynthetic algae, orchids that grow on corpses, and flesh that lives under the skin that casts off its former obligations with the matter that gave rise to it. I hear there are galaxies that cannibalize each other. This is lovely, but in the end, each system must procreate on its kind and the Darwinian struggle continues. Parasite, host, mutualist, symbiont, slave, lover, tool, companion, zygote, zygote, zygote, zygote.

to athena

i can stare into your grey eyes all day long, athena, and see storms pass, and sun too. things are not what you think they are, and in every significant way, they are better. it is no contradiction that you are beautiful and funny simultaneously, that your stories get better as you grow old, and that the glass of wine you are drinking now sits astride a million million universes, some of them with similar glasses of wine, some with nothing but echoes. you have lived through so many things, seen so many things, and fought so many battles worth fighting, against adversaries more powerful than yourself, and not been beaten. how many times have you taught Perseus to use the mirror against Medusa, or doomed poor Hector for his folly? like Odin, i have plucked out my good eye, and with it, i can see storms of my own, and sun too. we weather them together, my love, like two planets locked in orbit, storm and moon and sun and tide.

carbon

To say that i am grateful not to be spending this particular year decomposing underground is a tremendous understatement. I am elated, because even the worst of days have air and sunlight, in such wasteful abundance that clouds sing and mist abounds. There is snow cover, and seasonality, and the inevitability of spring, and whatever happens, it will not come again. None of it. I wish i could spend a day seeing through your eyes, love, be you four or twenty four or forty four. I would like to experience your joys and feel your frustrations. We are so alone in our minds, each of us, and yet we send out tendrils of experience through stories. If we are lucky, our stories will last a little longer than we do, and fade only after the passing of centuries. The moments fall like leaves, and the stories get more numerous. Lakes melt. Seasons change. Carbon cycles.

What it is like to be old

You asked me what it was like to be old. Maybe you thought you were kidding, but you were not. I can tell you this much. You know more stuff. You have had more time to learn stuff, and it is easy to know a lot of shit about a lot of things. You have more stories. More time equals more good stories. Period. Everything hurts more. Things hurt at your age, but more things hurt when you are old, and they hurt for longer. You have slightly fewer childhood memories-you forget a few, and memories of when when I was your age feel like childhood memories. I don't really know that much about the person who did those things i have memories of. I have some idea of his motivations. Still, he made so many decisions, good and bad, that I would not have made if I were there back then. I was not there, some other, earlier version of me was there. You, dear, are an early version of somebody else, and you will come to know that person. That person will appreciate your clothes, your sense of humor, your gift for friendship. She will be glad you had so much fun and realize that you should be so much easier on yourself. Or maybe she will appreciate you for your heart. A person changes You will change, but it is not like a marathon or even continental drift, it is instead like a frog race, where you start at the center, like every other frog in the race, and jump outward from it. You could end up anywhere by then end of it. Prison cells, brain transplants, transmogrification, celestial servitude, dens of iniquity, piss stained underpants. You make different kinds of plans. Time means less to you. You have seen enough change that it is fun to compare now to then, but most people are not inclined to listen to your stories unless you frame them right. The imaginary futures you thought might happen as a child have not happened. Emotions do not spike with the same amplitude, but have a serious and studied intensity, at my age. You get used to not being as attractive as you once were. Most people get funnier. If you have children, you start living two ages in parallel-the result of this being that you can no longer go out at night but you get to play with crayons. If you have kids, there is much more to worry about, otherwise, there is usually less. There are moments you would like to go back to. There are things you wish you could find words for.

For you

Let me make this abundantly clear. It is only through cold, hard determination that our Triassic ancestors survived long enough to reproduce. Natural selection does not favor pessimism, or even irony. Burrows need to be dug, prey need to be killed and eaten, eggs should be hidden under a layer of sand and guarded ferociously. None of these things comes without brute understanding that things could be a hell of a lot worse, and could turn bad at any moment. Smell the air. It is the mammal sense. Is it an an enemy or a mate- that smell that lingers over the nostrils and summons us into the moonlit forest surrounded by land crocodiles. Time will tell. Time will tell.