All posts by jacktrismegistus

I am called Jack. I am an incarnation of all the Jack's that have ever been. My opinions and philosophies are a reflection of said Jack's. The blog is entitled Inglorious Resurrection because like you I have been granted yet another chance, and like you each chance granted becomes more degenerative than the previous. And like you, I yearn for a way out. Jack is my only glimpse of hope because there is a lil Jack in all of us.

Stone cold love (a poem by Jack)

Everything I ever loved turns to stone…

They say if you let it go and it comes back to you… That’s true love..

But every thing I let go, sinks to the bottom of an endless ocean…

I have no gills… So it’s gone forever..

Forever sinking.. Forever lost.. Forever losing…

I left my body to pursue other world’s… Obtained other bodies to feel other touches…

To know new energies… Express my self in a paradigm this world doesn’t understand and will never allow..

I enjoyed these experiences… I enjoyed those miracles… But I always think back to you…

I always allow those unfulfilled regrets to taunt my spirit.. Taint the sunshine of my soul… 

A stormy cloud with no silver lining…

Yes, the rising of a new sun is so lovely…

But there is no soul like your soul… And no stone like our stone…

It has sunk, and will forever sink…and is forever sinking…

These storm clouds pour on my heart… Only adding to the depths of my ocean…

Every stone I’ve sought to gather lines an ocean floor– somewhere…

Mermaids… Dolphins… Crabs… Experience the lost love of many… 

Sunken treasures never to be realized.. 

A falling stone…long lost in a sea of apathy…

Black History Month? Why not… Celebration Bitches!..! (a blog by Jack)

Black history month… Myth put to the test… 


As the month of February draws to a close, the spirit of the month is examined.  February is indeed called “Black History” month. The seemingly vague description implies so much.  It provides some answers but creates more answers than it has the ability to answer.

For starters, what is Black History? Who are we defining as Black? How far back are we honoring those people’s history? If every aboriginal man on every piece of of Native land across this earth was of darker flesh, than who’s history are we really celebration?

I have a brief anecdote that may shed some light to some of these questions.

A good friend of mine, who I will call Richard Feltington, for the sake of the story, works for a government agency.  At the beginning of February he noticed that he, as well as other people of brown hue, was added to an email list inviting him to various “Black History” celebrations. And rightfully so, he felt uncomfortable. For whatever reason he didn’t feel the need to be singled out on a list and had no idea what they were celebrating. He decided to pass on the majority of the events, until it was pointed out by a coworker that he had not attended a single event. So he decided to attend the next function which happened to be a pot luck. Apparently everyone in the office was looking forward to attending the celebration because he over heard everyone clambering about what they were going to bring to the pot luck. He overheard a middle aged white lady saying ” I’m gonna google a good southern fried chicken recipe to bring to the pot luck”, apparently this is appropriate food for the function– understandable. Any whoo, the day of the function Mr. Feltington walks in and immediately sees an Asian man with his eyes closed, bopping his head back and forth, vibing to a “Negro Spiritual”. Although he wa slightly put off, Mr. Feltington proceeded to the food and took notice of all the deep fried foods, greens, cornbread  etc. Mr. Feltington did not just eat one plate but went back up for seconds and thirds.



This story gives insight as to the typical American’s mindset towards “Black History” month and why it goes unrecognized by so many. As history tells us, America was built on the slayings and enslavement of the native copper-man indigenous to to this land. As so many would choose to not to acknowledge this fact remains as a gross family secret no one speaks about, and when spoken about is quickly dismissed as something to “get over” not unlike 911 or “The Holocaust”. Each of which lasted significantly shorter time periods and cost significantly less lives in totality. Yet, I find it ironic that when “Black History” rolls around the only history that is celebrated is that of an enslaved people.

As though America is not so much providing a reminder of the atrocities it has done but celebrating its conquest of the people native to this land and the people brought over from a distant land. Perhaps the month should be entitled to a more accurate description “Enslavement Appreciation” month. Although it lacks PC, it more than makes up for it in accuracy.

Despite the lack of credit, black history reaches far back. Even if you restrict black history to the natives of this land it reaches far back. It definitely does not begin with American slavery. From a descendant of the enslaved I see that as nothing to celebrate, in any fashion or sense. As a conquered people who has assimilated to his conquerers culture, I still see it as nothing to celebrate. 

And as a man living among the conquerers, I do see why the month goes seemingly unrecognized. Who in there right mind wants a constant reminder of their ills. Consciously, like I, they have no idea what they are celebrating and on a subconsciously level they have even less desire to celebrate the month– their guilt would not allow it.

I suppose it’s up to the individual to do what they want with the month. My life is a constant reflection upon the creators of the earth and original man. For one month to imply and sum up my history is nothing less than a slap in the mouth. But as a conquered people, beggers can not be choosers. We should be grateful for the titles we are given, and the acknowledgment that we are bestowed. Until next February rolls around….


Happy Black History Month!



Song birds Sung (an ode by Jack)

Loss of a beautiful vibration…

An unmatchable elocution…

The birds don’t sing anymore…


They stopped at 8:45 Am February 25th, 2015


They don’t sing anymore..

The doves are too busy crying..

Their songstress and muse has abandoned them… To seek yet another lifetime…

The song birds sing in unison with perfection– now they are left empty in desolation…

Nothing but mute verse flows from their beaks.. It goes unheard by the untrained ear…

But to the compassionate of heart a melodious infinity resonates in the souls of the mourning…

We hear her… And capture her song in our hearts forever..

Blessings to the Muse…

May the song birds follow their passion… And sing in unison with eternity…

Lifemares– the Watchers (a poem by Jack)

I have an acute paranoia..

The wind echoes privy… And voices reflect lies…

I have a hard time seeing the people I deal with…. As.. People..

Just motives… Attempts to knock me off my pivot… 

The wind shows much more mercy than the motives of men…

So much peace could be had… Shared…

So much solace… Yet we fear even our thoughts… Because they too taint our souls…

Who’s thoughts are these that cascade from the terrain of my mind…

More lies.. Designed to knock me off my pivot…

I have acute paranoia..

The obtuse is all around… The inane is abundant…

How do you continue to pray to a god that has forsaken you? Who’s god are you praying to that it has lifted your enemies on a pedestal and has afflicted you with so much misery…

Perhaps you lack enough paranoia to even save yourself..

I’ve rested my head on the bosom of demons… Allowed the words of their tongue to caress my thoughts..

I was lonely… It felt good… 

But solace and loneliness can be mutually exclusive..

Being honest with yourself can only free you from the darkness…

Unsavory motives preying on unsuspecting minds… Exploiting unfortunate circumstances… Leading to a series of begrudging actions.. Destructive events…

I pray for the afflicted…

But to what avail…

My prayers echo from the mountain tops… Bouncing off of deaf ears.. Creating an avalanche of unfulfilled hopes… Empty expectations…

To whom must the bell toll but for me…

Those watching.. Those receiving my words… Aren’t those bending to my Will but acting in their own..

I have an acute paranoia …

And rightfully so…..



Dia de Los Muertos (a poem by Jack)

I was born to die…

I skate… Backwards.. Moon walking across auxiliary planets’ surfaces..

Born dead.. And if I continue to die before I wake.. My soul shall remained condemned.. A slave to both time and space…

I have neither the time nor space to reconcile this dissonance…

I pump my brain til it starts to feel good… Numb my thoughts until I can’t feel my thinking…

Thoughts without feelings…. A sweet poisonous nectar…

Action without thought…. An addiction… An affliction…

I’m a robotic Hemingway…

A slumber,I reside…

Not quite awake.. Not unresponsively dead… Still congregating with the zombies… Whispering into the shadows…

You know the walking dead…

Wiping crust out my eye….

Skulls and bones animate– dancing in rthymic patterns under the Suns gaze… They worship the Sun and it only seeks to burn… They burn there decrepit flesh.. Yet they remain loyal…

I’m growing bored with competing with necro lovers….

Survival of the deadest…

Necrophilia–because our souls have made union with minds that refuse to think, and bodies that insist on dying…

Everyday I wake up dying…

And every night I seek resurrection…

Til death do us part…

Until eternity brings us back together again…

IMG_4559

Human Zoo… Country of Apes.. (a blog by Jack)

A few months back I was gifted a trip to Disney World– a very interesting place indeed. It was a weeklong trip, and I was able to spend one of the days at the Safari Park. As I observed the various encaged animals, I found it remarkable that these wild beasts remained so calm. I immediately assumed that the animals had to be sedated– I inquired this of one of the park workers and he quickly assured me that they weren’t. So I asked him how the gorillas remained so calm. He replied, well, we keep them well fed and they generally remain peaceful when they have no needs.

This concept as well as its implications juggled the old marbles. On a basic level, man and ape share similarities. I thought to myself: are humans not so different… These were seemingly wild animals placed in a “cage”(rather limited living arrangement) yet they were able to peacefully cohabitate…

What makes us as humans so different?

Are we not as civil and critically thinking as gorillas?

Can we not respect each other and each other’s space and peace of mind?

Or maybe it’s the “well fed” concept that’s missing. Perhaps it is the fact that we as humans are not all “well fed”, and that keeps this monster called society ticking. Perhaps the fact that we aren’t “well fed” unleashes a savage-primitive nature within us–cultivated, yet still savage. Perhaps the fact that we aren’t “well fed” keeps the economy going.

I have a personal philosophy: “Low self-esteem drives the economy”. Many of top markets within our economy are in direct appeal to man’s vanity (cosmetics, clothing, luxury items, etc.).

Albeit to directly correlate man with a gorilla is a gross oversimplification. And an insult to the complexities of what it means to be a human. To keep a gorilla “well fed” is quite a simple task. It simply depends on having the proper quantity of food and environmental stimulus. On the other hand, keeping a human “well fed” involves a bit more. Most humans (not all) are three tier beings. Beings of mind, body, soul (which houses the individual spirit) — thus to keep a human well fed involves more aspects. Each of these aspects of the human must be addressed– as a trinity they grow hand and hand: lending to each other’s growth through a synergistic reciprocation.

Thus, the fact that man isn’t at peace among man directly speaks to his deprived nutrition in one if not all of these areas.

Without enough physical food we know the length man is willing to go to eat. A man will have no qualms about killing another man over bread– over his livelihood. This can be noted in various mediums of artistic expression– whether it be through movie or song.

Without enough mental stimulation we know the harm that this can do as well. Just take a look at the youth who are under stimulated in school. They often find destructive outlets to manifest these bottled up mental energies– often expressing itself in the destruction of the community or themselves somehow.

The most critical of man’s needs is spiritual food. When fed properly it allows for the other two outlets to be pursued harmoniously– it creates a balance. When man understands the spiritual nature of him-self and begins to develop it on the smallest of scales, his physical and mental energies begin to generate healthy outlets naturally. These mental and physical energies are automatically directed towards spiritual growth– love, benevolence towards others, ingenuity etc. And this is what happens when man simply begins to understand that he is a spiritual being.  A gateway begins to open which actually enacts spiritual growth—which involves so much more (healing aspects, mind over matter, insight, foresight, manifestation, etc.) But without the basic of awareness of who one is these spiritual avenues can never be pursued, or pursued in healthy manner.

So perhaps we aren’t so different from the ape. Another caveat I failed to mention is that the male gorillas were separated from the females. This places too many other variables in the mix– because then the variables of love, desire, and procreation come into play. And these variables would convolute the discussion.  But for simplicity sake, I do believe I made my point.

Perhaps if we as a society received more spiritual nutrition, many of our afflictions would cease to exist.

IMG_4555

Medusa’s Gaze (a poem by Jack)

Medusa’s gaze.. Only procrastinates longing… A gaze so strong and deep… My stone cold soul reflects back at her…

And her shallow superficial whence falls on def ears… She sees what it’s like to be black hearted.. And she becomes victim of her own undulated circumstance… Nothing’s left of her aminated exterior but jagged stone..

Alas we can relate… My soul is but a reflection or her appearance…

I alone must indure this journey… My conscience is but a stone throws away… But i never bother to use it…

It always gets in the way and makes things complicated…

I’d much rather live by the rock of my salvation.. Operate in the way of the cold hard stone…

That way nothin is ever personal.. It’s all business… Business for business sake…

And if I hurt or maim you… It isn’t because I dislike you.. It’s only because I like me more…

And the anticipation of my own suffering is enough for me to be proactive… For me to draw from your flesh the stress that would have been bestowed upon me…

Medusa’s gaze says it all… It penetrates all that doesn’t matter… Alleviating all consciousness and leaving you with the real…

A stone cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch…

All that remains is a callous nature… Set on doing callous things… Without any compassion… Without love…

I become a child of Medusa… Yet merely another stone to add to her vast collection…

The Iron Veil… (A poem by Jack)

In retrospect…

I suppose the hate isn’t all so bad when the adjoining love is authentic…

The despair is merely an aftermath… A combustion of emotion without an appropriate outlet…

It just mutates into whatever symbioce that’s fulfills its needs..

I’m left to not only take on the sins of my father.. But cursed to take on the sins of another…

Cold only feels good when it’s all you know… It’s the comfort within the normalcy that I’ve grown attached to…

To be so near another but far away is torture indeed…

I’d rather be isolated in hell than made to believe a false hope in purgatory…

We fear solitude… Mainly because we fear our thoughts… We fear the truth of ourselves…

But I stare in the mirror every day…

I see the light… I acknowledge the darkness… And serve em both their just due…

I constantly seek to reconcile the tension..

A cognitive dissonance not only between myself… But between the love and bond I share with another…

Through a third scope… I seek to become one with her… But schism is far too great…

The dissonance is daunting…

An iron sheik… With an iron will..With an iron curtain… Dividing too spirits seeking to be one soul…

Black Pearl (a poem by Jack)

She retracts like the tide..

Like the oyster, when she opens she reveals the most precious parts of herself…

Part quiet… Part coy.. Part perturbed.. Creating a concoction of a closed off shadow..

Attempting to go unnoticed… She keeps her hidden colors within the dark…

But it’s only temporary.. It’s always temporary.. But can you ensure the wave.. The intensity.. The empty backlash… Can you be sure that it isn’t filled with hatred… But filled with fear…

I’m scared… How do I deal with this new found emotion.. How am I to be entrusted with this pearl that you have bestowed upon me…

You respect my fear…. And I believe you..

She sits quietly… Undisturbed because I won’t touch her..

I patiently wait for the tide of her anguish to retract.. And the wave of her emotion to come crashing back in..

She smiles…

Revealing the tide is finally subsiding..

She looks into my eyes… I return the gaze… She turns away.. All but hiding her honesty..

Another pearl left for a guardian spirit..

Am I a worthy partaker of this pure innocence…

Her fears of my failing nutriment coincide with my fear of its fragility…

But with each crash the of waves… Comes a bond unique… And the waters will help nourish…

And I thank her for her waters….

Thank God for the waters….

Moon balance (a poem by Jack)

I can’t recall if I came from a time before or after…

It all becomes a blurr, eventually…

No prophecy ever becomes 100% fulfilled… I’ma a testament of that…

The periphery it outlines is always intact but the details always vary…

Mis and match…

Perched on the moon… I become that thing… That unintended consequence..

But I embrace it… And move on…

There is no satisfaction guaranteed with this life…. So despite it all… I just keep pushin… And enjoy every moment for what it has to offer…

Storing memories like baseball cards… Letting their value increase with age…

A thing from the moon…. Beaming down only when darkness pervades….

Quite the concept… I’m only visible when darkness inundates… It’s coo, because I’m appreciated all the more…

Moon lit sacrifices… Full moon rituals… Innocence scorned…

Many times I sit back and watch all the hysteria done in my name…

I’m flattered… But I’m a man just as you… And no matter how much credit you give me… Only you can absolve your sins…

One way or another you’ll eventually learn..

For the words have already crystallized to form the future.. The details are left for you to fill in… Go live your life… Feel free to be you… No matter the consequence…

Once you truly learn who you are… Then maybe we can do business…

Until then Neverland will be your home…

Enjoy the your stay..

I’ll visit every now and then… And in the most darkness, evidence of me is everywhere…

Just think and be…

Let your flame increase my bright …

Together we can illuminate and unite…

As you learn yourself, you will know me…