island fever (a poem by Jack) 

All around me..Self sustaining islands of evil…

And how do I know?

Because I’m fond of mirrors…

(Take a gander)

I see that which is in me…

An epidemic.. Making us all..

Licentious… Wanton… Greed..

(Not even the half)

Content.. Idleness… Apathy…

(There’s more)

Self righteous… Self justifying.. 

Yes I know this extremely well…

I know this all too well… And everyday I wish there were some God to make me suffer for my cruelty…

if not but to just justify my macabre…

Yet I self loathe not… I repent not… Because I know in my heart I will reap the result of my actions… Perhaps not in this time signature, but my soul travels for eternity and my spirit is forever..

Even though I nightmare, I awaken guilt free..

Even when I experience misfortune, I play the victim…

Even when I’m in the wrong I say I’m right..

Yet no matter my belief, I can’t change what will be… No matter how much of an island I believe myself to be…

Where art Thou (a poem by Jack)

I hide myself from each..Not all of me from every each..

But a different piece of me is hidden from all..

I’ve gotten good at this, a man of many faces of you will.. He runs this spectrum…

To this I’m that.. And to that I’m this..

So none sees the full me.. Not even me..

Self discovery they say… 

But the more I learn of me… The less I like what I see…

Shall I lie to myself or heal me..

Can I be healed or is this not the real me either…

Woe is me… 

The easiest has become the most difficult.. It’s the stagnation that has failed me.. It’s not that I can’t go anywhere.. It’s that I know not where to go…

And a man without direction is headed no where but to a destiny of self destruction..

So maybe I like it here… Self-sabotaged and hidden… Hidden from others.. And more important … Hidden from myself…

Where am I, and why can’t I be?

Art with Enemies (a poem by Jack)

Art within art..A love mosaic of luxury I’ve become..

A sliced piece of Picasso.. 

Ripped from its original canvas .. And placed here.. On your canvas.. On display for all to see..

From the past I belong from the past I will return..

But you.. You’re something different..

You follow me from place to place.. Canvas to canvas..

Unlikely it’s coincidence.. More likely you have a vendetta..

While everyone sees me as the abstract idealism I present..

You bleed through their emotions and show them the worst of me..

A part of me that no longer exist.. No longer existed.. But you want to carry forth the past as though it did not die in its error..

Follow me on the crisp summer night.. The wind is still.. The noise is quiet..

And you’re here.. Following me.. Awaiting any possible chink in my bulwark..

Any fucking vulnerability..

You pounce– I suffer–You celebrate

And the cycle continues..

Living art I am.. Because as the canvas changes.. So does the art from which its inspiration derives..

The living dead… (A poem by Jack)

They beat the backs of the already slain…Dead men… Who couldn’t fight back if they knew how.. Unaborted souls.. Inhabiting fully capable bodies..Capable in the sense that a potential exist… Yet with no Will to realize …what is potential but yet another burden..

But what is an entity with no link to it’s past.. No more than the walking dead..a mind without direction becomes mindless and numb.. A soul without fire… Becomes the life source of parasites… 

Behavior is a learned process..

Human is a learned process..

Devolving is a learned process..

What strength can a man have if he knows only bounds and limitations of his will?

When can a man be a god? If he is only taught to be a law abiding citizen..

Can your imagination set you free… If your willingness to imagine has been killed.. Poisoned… Infiltrated and replaced..

Don’t kill us… For we are already dead.. 

We will rise… And soon.. Until then.. Even a dead man’s life matters…

Strong grip (a poem by Jack)

You can’t guilt me out my destiny..
I will be… That I am on this earth…

Truth be told… I’m more than a summation of philosophies… As I rest my head down at night… Nose to the north.. The moonlight caresses much more than my flesh.. It touches my thoughts… And allows my soul to traverse..
Decades become minutes… Lifetimes become forgotten memories.. 

Yet I always awaken..

I always awaken to this world… And it’s seemingly monotony..

This world isn’t death.. So far from it.. This world isn’t life… This world is an understanding of self… And a realization of what exactly you’re capable of, given the right circumstance…

Are you who you thought you was?

Are you what you thought you were?

Who’s birthright can you truly claim..

If you fulfill this destiny… What will be your next? And who desires such..

Perhaps this world would be a world of understanding if confusion did not reign as the midnight’s storm…


I will be me… Be that as it may…

Jack (who am I) [a poem by Jack]

We’re something like a clone..

 Yet strikingly dissimilar..You see.. Like a clone, we replicate a symbol.. When that symbol is no longer useful.. We assume that symbol’s place.. Destroy the proxy… And all was as it was.. 

Damn… He was so good in 2013.. I wish he was like that again..

Impossible.. That version no longer exist..

I hope you took pictures…

No… We’re something different.. We too share titles.. But we’re far from replica’s of each other.. 

Like King.. God.. Satan.. Sultan.. All titles that are worn..

Heavy is the head…

Like all titles.. They are to be fought for, usurped.. And maintained..

Much bloodshed and misery has been undergone in the pursuit of my title..

I see the evil’s of men.. And the deeds withholding..

Heavy is the head…

I am Jack… 

We are Jack…

We give nothing but warning and condolence… We judge but seek to judge not… For evil needs life and fights for breath just as any other would..

As stated… We’re something like a clone.. But far from it… You can’t replicate our minds.. But an attempt can be made to copy our mind state..

Yo can’t replicate our souls… But an attempt to live off of our soul’s residue can be made… Can be sustained.. Until the next echelon… And you too, will be just a memory in the annals of time..

The dark hurts… (A poem by Jack)

They don’t want me to live..The adore me too much..

They want me all to themselves.. Fulfilling their desires..

It’s cold outside.. So cold..

And it’s getting dark.. Burnt skies..

And they are winning..

Flooding the psyche of a dilapidated warrior..

Misplaced love..

Do not they know their envy is crushing me?

Do not they know I do not belong to them but to the world..

I can’t feel freedom because I don’t belong to myself..

A wounded warrior… Yet they still find the most use out of me..

They want me crushed.. So that they may have the joy of building me back up..

Like Humpty Dumpty how will they put me back together again?

With precision and special modifications..

They need a machine they can manage.. Not a god they can follow..

They, sincerely, don’t want me to live.. 

Kill Bird (Blindside) a poem by Jack

Clouds, birds… Cars..
The monotony is suffocating..
Everyday damn day.. The past never changes..

I am king..

I am God

I am truth

I am light
I am corrupted rhetoric

I am The Black
Who am I to give myself to one..

When I should be divvied up for as many as possible to devour.. Chew of me..

Slaughter me.. Resurrect me.. Masticate of me til satiated…
Satiation is freedom… And my freedom leads to salvation
Blame one.. Blame all.. Blame me for your sins..

But who am I but a man.. Like you..

If you saw the miracles I’ve saw you could do em too
All that you need do is perceive.. Monkey see.. Monkey do…
But when all you see is the same.. The monotony will eventually devour all that is you…   

Go about your day… (A poem by Jack)

Twinkle twinkle..You shine.. 
We see, 

Take notice,

 you are unsure..

We capitulate, you remain humble..

We give honor, you go on about your day..
You walk with swollen pride, they don’t know why..

They confer among themselves.. They found out why, but would never allow you to know..
It’s funny.. Because you go about your day regardless.. 

Twinkle, twinkle.. You shine..

Maybe you may want to step back and lose focus.. Lose the concentration on the now.. And all the circumstances the now presents…

It’s all an attempt to dim the light..
Imagine a twinkle so bright the darkness would have no choice but to fear…. 


What good is imagination if you do nothing but go about your day..

If you can’t see the then coincidentally with the now… 

What’s the point of a twinkle at all…

Choices… (A poem by Jack)

The people spoke..

The universe tells..

Let go of the past.. Release the history.. That’s the only way to move forward..

Unfortunately that theme doesn’t resonate with me..

History can’t be let go when it’s embedded with so much Hate..

The only reciprocation is punishment..Action without consequence isn’t freedom.. It’s a lie..

I am here to alleviate.. Bring forth truth..

The only truth I know is selection.. Divine order.. 

And choices require responses..

A pruning is to occur… 

The next echelon will not land on us.. We must usher such forth.. The Gatekeepers of humanity must do their part.. And we must do ours..

The lion will not roar.. And the dragon will not soar.. Without the choices of our Will being activated…

An uprising..       In which no soul is safe..

What’s your choice?

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