Three Ways of the Saw

I've been focusing on the recent publication of my first collection of short stories, Three Ways of the Saw. So not much has been going on here lately. If you're new to this blog, sniff around, there's some fun stuff. If you've been here before you've likely seen it all. So head on over to the Three Ways of the Saw blog, which is where I've been spending my time lately.

Read on!

Matt

Seven Stones

That tragedies can destroy what happiness there is in an instant.

That countless are dying and being killed right now.

That considering this is doing nothing to solve the problem.

As the whore packs his junk into a codpiece.

As a president signs lives away with her pen.

As I realize, again, how much less I am here without you.

Who I’ll never know.

What So Proudly We Hail (This is the Space Age)

Oh, say can. Oh, say can. Oh, say can.
You see the stars bleed their red troubles
across the junked night sky. You hear
the white light of the universe grinding
on an axis bold as love. You know
the blue purpose of our future. This is
the space age. And we are here to go.

Beatnik Sermon

You see that leaf, man?
That dog, that tennis ball
that piece of asphalt?
All the same yet all different!
That's holy! Holy is the curb
and my tennis shoe. Holy is every
eyelash and every flake of skin. Holy
is the sick wan light of the supermarket
and that old woman thumping
the melons two for one. Holy is
the surprise in the crackerjack box. Holy
is that baseball and the thrum of the sea.
Holy the shark's tooth and the wound.
Holy the black hole and the supernova.
Holy the infinite banged out
expansion of our universe which will
someday recollect into the cosmic
cannonball of each and every thing
only to explode again. Holy is
the ten million-named God-Matter
which is us and not us and everything
else simultaneously. Amen.

One Every 24 #48

A Means to an End

An endless suburb of concentration camps

Eviscerating ghost limb souls thrown to

The snap-jawed dog meat slaves crouched beneath

An electric chair assembly line powering more than

Enough atom bombs to vaporize the baby flesh from

The painted geisha faces of our misapprehension.

By this I mean I am here in my yard frozen

Over the bowl of sunflower seeds I'm setting out

For a squirrel who's somehow lost a leg while I see

Our screed of rationales drool from a severed head held

Aloft by the hair. When this film slaps free of its reel

An idea, picked vulture clean, remains: too much

Of what we’ve wrought begins with our wanting

Some living thing dead because someone believes

A given end justifies any means.

Addiction

A remix film about obsession and connection in the age of social media. More experimental films can be found here.

One Every 24 #47

Anecdote Hinting at a Recurring Fear

When he told B. B. it was terminal

The doctor likened the disease’s spread

To weeds taking over a lawn.

It’s impossible to get them all, he concluded.

What bullshit, B.B. thought at the whole idea of being

Shut off at the height of twenty-six

That a lawn survives with care in spite of weeds

And a goddamn doctor can’t even kill me

With an accurate analogy.