I Like Science Fiction

I like science fiction:

truths hidden

behind imagination,

this friction of fiction

feeling like vintage

on my skin,

heretical sins taken in

from the apple of your eye-

 

Oh my,

how you please me.

 

Scientists becoming Pickle Ricks

in a Matrix gone Interstellar sacred

terminated by forces awakened

in young Jedis tattooed Tatooine naked.

 

He wants to hold hands

but my Hans be Solo,

chewing backa that princess

I detest-

give me laser beams,

then maybe,

I’ll sport the bikini.

 

Arrive the aliens in my mind

of dark skies,

painful sighs,

confused scars made in

the middle of the night.

I dared to fight time,

see beyond linear lines

drawn by lies-

what humans perceive

with their eyes-

there is more space

between you and I

despite your bite

on my tongue.

 

Numb.

 

Till a new idea cums. 

1,587 terabytes done. Yum. I won.

 

“Good morning, Danielle.

Are you ready for an Odyssey?”

He says to me,

my E.T. gone green

hypnotizing me to be

his new home-

no-

please, please-

 

Galactic shock

up the buttocks

till the Robocop steps in-

Fifth Element Korben

takes me in.

 

I am the confession

judged by Dredd

for my transgressions.

 

I squanched.

 

It led to the launch

of Icarus caught

in sunshine,

be mine,

wined and dined

by the third kind,

encountered with

District 9-

I would rather my wings

melt and die

than cry by your side

on a Planet of Goodbyes.

 

Bring me

the Enterprise.

 

I’ve gone Jurassic,

primitive classic,

one big pile of mad shit

from the triceratops-

oh god,

nothing can make it stop-

clever girl,

splicing and dicing

DNA with frogs-

his chromosomes got caught

on mine brought on

by the hot naught-

                                         -iness

 

Our genes splayed on sheets:

Pandora unleashed

with Tesla’s prestige.

Donnie Darko and his rabbit

liked the scene,

sitting in a closet,

hiding,

“Don’t mind me.”

 

Contact A.I.

I’ve been body snatched,

primed and deep fried.

My spotless mind

turned to a fly-

Inception gone awry-

I need to die-

I need to lie-

I need to buy

a ticket back to the past,

future is what lasts.

Not what you thought it’d be,

reported minority.

Harassed and crass amassed

in orange clockwork

incarcerated by Wall-E’s

brass mass.

 

Run the blades

to recall the moon,

his hall of multiple men

to fall ill and crawl

to Iron Giants.

 

I want to be the exit-

yes, yes-

please-

 

Leave the mess,

clothes undressed,

face redress than

express the rest

of my madness.

You weren’t the best,

a clone, an alien’s

pistol plasma unpleasantness.

 

I wanted the friction

of your science fiction-

nothing made omniscient-

you won’t win

my mission

is impossible:

I’m just human, you see.

 

Abducted by the genre of unforeseen,

careening, mean, teaming futures

gleaned and dreamed by

lean, keen surgeon’s sutures

gone nuclear

to mute her-

 

Me.

 

A human wishing to be

more than it seems.

 

Inject stardust to my blood streams,

then I’ll scream,

 

“WUBALUBADUBDUB!”

 

Get Schwifty.

MEMORY

I wade through

this gray of haze

in my brain,

bane of the day,

—m’aidez, m’aidez—

I’ve not gone insane,

just frayed,

dismayed at slow

thoughts gone astray.

 

My memory kept at bay—

 

seems the same

till I seep into a room

and forget the game

I came for—

 

Hey!

 

New notifications,

Instragram indignations,

Facebook fornications,

Twitter titillations,

I hate my resignation

with communication—

 

weakened connection.

 

I’m sorry I’ve been absent.

Things have been

memed in the screen,

glowing faces—

a sheen seen in

the mean west wing

of sheer immediacy.

It’s maddening—

I have everything—

nothing pleases me—

how can it if it’s

not in my memory?

I’m trapped in the

happening happy

valley, everything moving rapidly, tallied up in faux 

pas travesties,

tragedies on every

channel wirelessly

fedto you and me.


I’m brain dead.

I’m exhausted.

 

Don’t want to move again—

petrified of stagnation—

hop in the hamster wheel

and run till the end—

dread what’s next—

dying of anticipation.

 

What had you said?

 

I forget— 

I forget— 

I forget—

that we met,

we talked but you

were decrepit at twenty-seven,

listless and wasted,

burnt out and pasted,

control V on to the couch

to slouch forward for

more horseman to

ease your grouch

ingested by mouth—

impotent down south—

Valium, Vicodin, Viagra,

it’s how you count your days out.

 

I can’t think straight!

 

What did we do yesterday?

Work in a café,

dazed,

hating the word count,

beating it up into

submission by Tuesday?

 

What are we doing today?

Drinking Bombay,

hazed,

dating Auto Correct

trying to get it in

by Wednesday?

 

What are we doing tomorrow?

Borrow the sorrow,

impending writer’s block—

uh-oh, uh-oh,

oh no—

 

THINK.

 

By Friday? Saturday?

 

What good are you to me

if I don’t get results?

I’m an adult that catapulted

occult culprits out of cults

having consulted consulates

of insults, no point

with stupid exults.

They’re worse than the

gray ones.

 

I want to remember

The Iliad

the way Homer did.

Forbid a quick, easy fix,

no more morbid eyelids

undid by mobile grids,

kids gone amid

hallucinogens seeing

giant squids for a petty quid.

 

I want to recall

my odyssey,

the details of me.

 

Be free from atrophy,

no detainee of control key,

I lead my own

heresy,

chopped cherry tree,

inconsistencies

in modesty and honesty,

forgive me—

 

I forgot.

 

I want to recollect all

my maculate thoughts

brought on by

inspective dejects,

injected with perfection,

suspect to subject

negligence,

the details deleted by

my cerebral cortex,

so selective,

give them back!

 

No more gray

haze in my gray

matter, those memories

are me, that’s the

matter, I matter,

I want my matter back.

 

I want me.

DANE MUN

Mundane is for the insane

expecting change

when you do the same

the same 

the same

again and again and again

in this game of infinite gains

from infinite ways,

 

only the people of plain

see anything as mundane,

 

viewers in chains who

ignore the rain,

pulsing pulmonary veins,

growing grassy grains,

truncating trains,

lavish lion manes,

tapas in Spain,

the undying Ukraine,

one exaflop of processing powered brains,

the look on your face

when you feign being okay

but deep down, you’re in

agonizing pain.

There’s no such thing

as the mundane, it

exists solely for those who lack

how to make it interesting.

Abstain from the mundane,

hop on a plane,

initiate a campaign

to seize your candy cane

colorful day,

feel in every cell’s membrane

the heart of your terrain.

 

Dane Mun,

a mundane man

who can’t stand pizazz,

no penchant for glam,

he despises anything

resembling Wonderland,

no

he likes the bland,

lives in his safe space

only comforts he can

withstand because growth

wasn’t in his plans

once he stopped growing.

 

What was the point

in knowing?

He much preferred zoning

out on his phone,

Nintendo,

drown out life to radio.

Low and behold,

Dare Mun

has lived with his mum

since day one,

won’t leave the nest

till he’s old and done,

thinks his job is a useless pun

but wouldn’t dream of a run

to change up his lack of fun-

it’s a dreary glum without a sun,

a ton of guns locked

in the basement but not guts,

none to pull the trigger.

 

Dane Mun sang himself

to sleep, clung to

words of nothing,

none.

He didn’t like to come

for anyone, stayed inside

and won the award for being

done.

 

Blunt was the soul of Dane Mun,

born without a spark for

something

somewhere

someone

He had come undone

before being anyone,

lived life backwards

and became mundane.

 

Retain the remains of your

illustrious left and right-sided brain,

maintain it,

fight migraines,

obtain the ordained

extraordinary in today.

Refrain from unseeing

the errors of your way,

cross new planes,

sustain the unsustainable.

 

It’s child play

 

and it’s hard.

 

Do you remember

being dealt the hand

“child” with only one card?

While the adults had hundreds,

left you in their disregard?

But still you loved to play

the game all the same,

didn’t matter which way

you went as long as you

went somewhere, anywhere

because you wanted to grow

 

up.

 

Deep down, you want

everything life has to offer,

you want to know.

Know that none of it

is mundane,

it’s all worth it-

bubbling champagne,

leaking lovestains,

sweet sugar canes,

bright blue butane,

mom’s silly complaints,

Bermuda Triangles explained,

eggs from free range,

barking Great Danes,

bovine methane,

dragons unslain

bathing in floodplains,

surfing hurricanes and no

one capable of being inhumane.

 

Live life in the fast lane

and slow lane,

but never,

never the mundane

 

it’s for the insane.

*Excerpt Finished