cosmic.messenger .•˚

scroll II
the Universe Weeps

___________________

Songs for a New Cosmos . • ° * ' ~ `
the Cosmanac . • ° * ' ~ `

despite and
because of
ALL T H A T
of which I a m . • °

I am here
here am I
typing a few
words into the eth e r . • ° * ' ~ `

the Universe
weeps f o r u s . • ° . • ° . • °

redirecting pain,
in malice, or
in weakness,
harms inevitably . • °

striking
A L L
except
M E

then
karma
pulls back
its great bow.

consumed by
consumption,
plagued by
our oppressors,

we're tormented,
trapped in this
impossible
game . • °

governed by the
Laws of Thermodynamics,
pain isn't created
nor destroyed.

it zaps You on its
way to the ground; or
You zap others through
incosmic redirection . • °

a bump on the toe—
YOWW W W !
a wack in the jaw—
F*•×^+°` Y O U ! • °

unless You're a billionaire
(in which case—kick rocks),
Your body's industrially
farmed for labor-power . • °

the other option's
dea t h . • °

avoiding harm is to be
beaten, unhoused,
jailed, raped, chewed,
pink-slipped, and spat out to rot . • °

he beats up his wife
for a misunderstanding.
she beats up her child
for crocodile tears . • °

You go into debt
for breaking Your leg.
they go into handcuffs
for sleeping outside . • °

our oppressors
incosmically threaten
You. follow the rules—
produce and consume . • °

9. Harm
[ printed on a dot matrix ]

Glory to eternal chaos !
to vastness and possibility !
cosmic pain is a
part of being Here.

but much of our
pain isn't cosmic—
undue violence
and harm . • °

incosmic self,
incosmic actions—
M E before
the Universe

you are running
out of planet
to devour—still
you keep drilling . • °

you are running
out of excuses
to spew—still
you look to Mars . • °

you are running
out of planet
to devour—still
you keep drilling . • °

you are running
out of excuses
to spew—still
you look to Mars . • °

you are running
out of planet
to devour—still
you keep drilling . • °

you are running
out of excuses
to spew—still
you look to Mars . • °

you are running
out of planet
to devour—still
you keep drilling . • °

you are running
out of excuses
to spew—still
you look to Mars . • °

the Universe weeps for its ancient blue marble on fire . • °

the Universe weeps for its ancient blue marble on fire . • °

the Universe
weeps for
Its ancient blue
marble on fire . • °

a. planet
[ glowing green on a 70s computer terminal ]

drowning in icecap,
buried in bottlecap,
suffocated by
her exhaustion, Ear t h . • °

you are running
out of planet
to devour—still
you keep drilling . • °

you are running
out of excuses
to spew—still
you look to Mars . • °

you spit in the
face of Everything
and demand to
see its manager.

may your
10,000 corpses
rot here beyond
the Great End.

the Universe
weeps for
Its precious
little ones . • °

born of the Milky Way,
far from black holes,
four billion years of
Earth being here .•°

and you're killing
brown children in cag e s ! • °

wringing your
pincers when the
shooter is
Black.

digging your
claws-in when the
migrants seek
water.

you, who box-in
biodiversity
reject 10,000
generations.

you, who spew
this putrid slime,
scream to the Void
for ancient Mercy.

curls, melanin, slang,
genes, ancestors, recipes—
embodiments of cosmic fractals,
incubated in Life's vibranc i e s .•°`~^*'

b. curls
[ exploring the depths on an 80s RPG chat ]

insidious,
festering,
cesspool—
race.

slurping in its
viscous acidic juices,
this disintegrates
A L L but its baldspot.

its thick mucus of
an '°ideology°'s
kkhhocked up with
incosmic cruelties.

the Universe
weeps for
these impossible
circumstances . • °

_______________

* until the Cosmic
Revolution beg i n s . • ° *'~`^

unless You're a billionaire (pthu-)
Your body's industrially
farmed for labor-power.
the other option's death . • °

streetlights come from taxes.
community comes from sweat.
work Your ridiculous wage.
pay* Your ridiculous rent.

sell Your time,
not Your soul.
don't be consumed
by the beast.

losers weep, then inherit—
nothing. scraps
chucked to a
barrel of crabs . • °

not name, not brain,
not home, not school,
not parent, not body,
not zipcode—

Nobody c h o s e
to be Here . • °

c. zipcode
[ typing a manifesto on a windows .txt file ]

winners always win
when losers play instead—
wracking-up their loaded die to
wack you in the jaw . • °

winners weep, then inherit—
trust funds, credit scores,
last names, fruits of
10,000 generations.

not she, not he,
not they, nor me—
their words,
not Our s . • ° * ' ~`

the Universe
weeps for
this insidious
propaganda . • °

d. body
[ drafting an NSFW AIM away message ]

a whiff off
some pits on
a stuffed bus—
no homo, not straight.

a basket of
flesh just
tryna cum—
not pussy, not d°ck.

a bi-modal
distribution of
sex traits—
not woman, not man.

a call to raise
a new human
however you can—
not mama, not dad.

handshakes, golf,
PNLs, neckties—
barriers to
social ladders.

names, stares,
whispers, jokes—
barriers to
joining the fun.

hypocrites with
welcomemats
on their
doorsteps.

the Universe
weeps for
the ones who
don't belong . • °

e. gates
[ clicking out a T9 message rant ]

curbs, stairs,
knobs, walls—
barriers to
being inside.

locks, gates,
cops, redlines—
barriers to
going places.

text, sound,
colors, language—
barriers to
half our stories.

tickets, glass,
guards, galas—
barriers to
our culture.

Here, at
the Dawn of
the Cosmic
Renaissance .•°

the busy life
drowns out
the stillness in
the Truth .•°

the Universe
weeps for
Your unliberated
silence . • °

but despite having the only
mouths in the Milky Way—
the shareholders
want another yacht.

so they poison
our wells, take
data and labor, and
sell us back husks.

who has the time to
choreograph when
forty hours can't
pay rent?

who has it in them to
watercolor when
their everything
ain't enough?