a self-declared cyborg doing cyborg stuff
The ‘Soulcruzer’ podcast (more of an audioblog, really).
Expect a blend of mysticism and music, psyche and soul, everyday wisdom, and the esoteric. One day, I might be waxing lyrical about Nietzsche’s eternal return, and the next, uncovering the wisdom of the tarot. It’s all up for grabs on this pod.
So, if first-person confessional style podcasts are your jam, subscribe to mine wherever you get your podcasts. I’m on all of the major platforms.
In this episode, I dive deep into a question that’s been looping in my mind all day: What is a life for? More specifically, What is my life for? It’s one of those questions that feels simple on the surface, but the more you dig, the more complex and infinite it becomes. I’ve been pacing around, wrestling with it, and decided to hit record and let my thoughts flow freely.
this ongoing remix practice (of mine)is the heartbeat of evolution itself,a rhythmic, recursive dance of becoming (what am i becoming?). it feels like an innate biological imperativewoven deep into my DNA, a pulse, a vibration, a call-and-response echoe across ec(h)osystems. here, my cut-and-paste as-you-go ethosspills into my life’s messy edges....
started reading some of Charles Olson’s work.
There’s something about Charles Olson’s In Cold Hell, in Thicket that feels uncomfortably familiar, like stepping into a dense forest where every direction looks the same but somehow promises something different. For me, this poem isn’t just a piece of writing—it’s a mirror held up to the way I experience...
She was all legs and breasts when I saw her yesterday. It was hot. Not just the kind of hot that has people wiping their foreheads with the back of their hands and cursing the sun, but the kind of sweltering heat that spreads over everything,turning the world into a mirage of shimmering light....
there’s a pulse, a beata rhythm that’s jagged and rawdancing to the cadence of the streetlights. it’s here in the hollows of the night where words tumble out like dice in a back alley craps game where the poets huddle over steaming cups of coffee, their cigarettes making halos in the dim light. it’s...
The other day, a good friend of mine messaged me: And I replied with: And:
Existence is suffering.Existence is painExistence is timeExistence is purposeExistence is immediateExistence is perfectExistence is reasonExistence is problematicExistence is exoticExistence is mysteriousExistence is meExistence is godExistence is beautifulExistence is mindExistence is unnecessaryExistence is lameExistence is resistanceExistence is futileExistence is eternalExistence is essenceExistence is temporaryExistence is struggleExistence is everythingExistence is ironicExistence is...
The other day, a good friend of mine messaged me: And I replied with: And:
I’ve been threatening to publish another poetry chapbook for at least a year now. I have a completed manuscript, just haven’t gotten around to editing it. I think what has been holding me back, is that I want to do something different with it in terms of format and form....
This past weekend, we packed up the Outlander and headed northeast to King’s Lynn for a little camping excursion. The first one of the season. I know it’s late, but heck with the earlier weather not being the best and then vacation time in Fuerteventura, well the days and weeks...
can be yourself don’t bottle up the body, keep it open. when all self-identifications remain get rid of god. no self-definition, i am energy and bring nothing reality here, can i demand nothing when you want nothing, seek nothing expect nothing unexpected! a man engrossed prescribed by his scriptures will...
god be sitting on a fence up the road i saw him peering at the traffic passing by then he wandered over to the tobacco shop said something to the barelegged boy leaning on the countertop adjusted his spandex shorts and left
on a pristine october afternoon i applied for a job begging at the ports all for the sake of feeling my way against the ghost of your truth my lies limed and loaded flowed easy riding the night’s last flicker of hope i was young i tried to capture you...
Best experienced through headphones… ant-people, something has happened that’s made me question the nature of my reality, a thread to follow… the point of intersection between the human mind and suppression. i don’t think you will ever see me again. i achieved what i was incapable of. the time...
in the moment she answered formless in-between states of grief shadows dancing underneath her eyes she did not recognise me darkness dull and desperate before the beginning began i caught myself staring like a chimp caught humping another chimp, never would i be better imitating the ways of the master...
