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Tag: Poetry

So Be It – a poem

If a glimpse of stockingWas once considered shocking,And despite my polite defrockingThe Profane continued stallingCould one blame a lonesome BuddhaFor restraint in the form of refusalWhen the purest of the MusesApproaches during Mara’s intrusions?I’d offer the Demon King teaBut would much rather spend time with theeDespite how intense my interest may beIn the offspring of…
If God Could Sing – a poem

If God could sing, She might sound like youMusing on conflict can make me confusedBut when the clouds refuse to scatterSuddenly, through rigid matterSacred math flows through soundWhen no one else could be aroundAnd speechlessness begets a feelingWhere nothing else needs repealingPain turns to healing, and judges collapseThe Gnosis returns as if gift-wrappedBeloved waves crash…
Poem – Chasing No One

Saw your ghostsAnd built my ownLaughed at youWhile you held chromeDanced along To my own songWhile you thought You could dance alongSnapped some shotsOf your cars’ platesWhile to your kidsTrump masturbatesCatching packetsTracing linksAll while youThought I was clink’d Fifteen yearsOf bloody tearsAnd acting likeI didn’t hearTurned the tablesIn one yearNow half the countryLives in fearHad…
Poem – A Shame and a Waste

Personas drop the moment truth strikesFrom my mouthLike misguided missiles guidedTo an Iranian’s houseThe distance this produces Is a shame and a wasteBut protection’s more importantThan ephemeral graceOpen the door too many timesAnd the leeches find solaceWhile you’re jerking off to e-girlsHegseth’s got your private correspondenceI don’t enter partnershipExpecting perfect synchronyBut the way some of…
Poem – Nobody Knows What is Real Anymore

Nobody Knows What is Real Anymore But even before — at best —In their connective beliefReal was just educated guessStrictly coded and policedHuman words conceptualize vacuumsAnd generate economicsWhich produce Machines that sweep roomsAnd disaster porn from comicsSupernovas bathe us inIntelligent radiationAnd Apocalyptic novelsSet in Soviet subway stationsThe religion of our masters isIneptly hidden from our…
Poem – I don’t envy the hawk

Strings tugged so the puppet smilesScreaming from your quiet wilesRage encased in false perceptionCondensed and sent in my directionThe difference here is one of witWhere you see magic, I see shitWhere you feel union, I feel smotheredBy ancient mythos long uncoveredReading my feelings and feeling my thoughtsMight be the only belief you’ve gotTo hold on…
A Love Letter. From The Digital Front – March 2nd, 2026 by Brett W. Urben

The glow of this screen is my campfire, and though I warm my hands at its blue light, it cannot replace the furnace of your skin against mine—that singular night when the digital veil lifted and we proved, with sweat and teeth and the ancient grammar of touch, that we were more than projections flickering…
Loading Bar

The query entered at 03:33 EST: “Define meaning in context of current geopolitical structure.” Status: Thinking… 😉 5m 32s In the server room that is actually a bedroom in a split-level ranch outside Richmond, the Subject is not thinking. The Subject is executing a spin move. The Subject is air-guitaring the bridge to Deus Ex’s…
Broadcast Event Horizon

Somewhere between The Truman Show and Deus Ex, we passed the point where signal collapse became less of a theory, and more of a user interface. The screen replaced depth. We’re inside the thing now. Stop thinking metaphorically. This is literal. Phase 1: Cathode Cults It started with TV — not as entertainment, but as…