Artist Statement

It's the little bit of everything that isn't what it seems,
The space between two places that is only half a dream.
A suspicion that there's universes in-between the seams,
and peculiar patterns that would rather not show what they mean.

My machines make patterns, I'm the pilot for parameters.
I'm bigger picture duty, bots handle small diameters.
I'm a pixel manager with a penchant for pentameters,
examiner of chances, grabbing glances of what can occur.

Mechanical creations with a human mind behind the wheel
churning through the formulas to turn imaginary real.
I get exotic with chaotic iterators to reveal
the wonder lurking under number sequences surreal.

I'm on a journey learning worthy ways to get specific,
rendering some copies of exquisites to exhibit.
I keep 'em for the minds like mine who like to come and visit.
The world is complicated, don't get jaded or you'll miss it.

Pacific Illusory Orange

I can see a color that you don't know you see.
It's not one on a color wheel, it doesn't have a frequency.
But this color, like the others, mixes with the rest.
Catch it at the edge of leaves, at dawn or some sunsets.
When it mixes with the blues of a brand new sky
the air up there takes on a depth, reaching rather high.
When it's down with brown or reds, like clay, or mud, or dirt
it sends them back and makes them flat,closer to the Earth.

But this color plays the best, with every shade of green.
When it's shining on the flora, the world wears a sheen.
Oranges golden, yellow shimmers, underglows galore
you've seen it even if you didn't know it had a name before.

A camera's white balance is a bias to the capture,
a shift of hues and vibrancy, but what if it went backward?
Take away the data and that balance is none other
than a particularly odd and faint orange or blueish color.

So it is with my favorite one, it's a shine
that shifts and lifts the shades we see, spectrums turned sublime.
Only for some dozen minutes, with the longest kinds of rays
sunlight at the start or finish, bookends on the clearer days.

One more way to think about it, known to those in Hollywood
is called the "Golden Hour", when the footage turns out good.
But considering the axis that the planet spins around
the distance changes from the sun to your spot of ground.

So the place you're in has its own special golden hour
different than the Golden Bridge, or the Eiffel Tower.
If you spend some time within it, it only takes a little visit
your mind will find the local golden hour quite exquisite.

I've kept the name close to my chest, please don't be alarmed
there's just not much that rhymes with Pacific Illusory Orange.
But every word is chosen to evoke the thoughts above.
It's a kind of orange that radiates, a bit of solar love.

It's only an illusion, it doesn't have a measure.
It's only seen by the serene, the silly, and the clever.
It's unique to where we are, surreptitious and specific
sun rays skipping off the waves of the cold Pacific.

So next time when the world starts to glow that special way
early in the morning when the stars are tucked away,
I hope you give your eyes the time to notice something new:
the Pacific Illusory Orange that a wizard showed to you.

Power Shell

Something broke, desktop hell
so I invoke a power shell.
Reinstalling all is novice,
tools can solve this,
there's been progress!

Consult guides and forum pages,
a network maze of nerd-turned-sages.
Ancient scripts and arcane tools
help my system check its rules.

System files turning rotten,
my compiled scanner spots them,
restore order, boot again:
I'm back to gaming with my friends.

Long Infinity

Sometimes forever comes and goes in a minute.
Hours passing quickly full of seconds more infinite.
Blinking marks the boundary between before and after.
Whether facing down disaster, or barrels full of laughter.
Intense instants interrupt internal clocks.
Ticks without tocks, chalk it up to system shock.
But it's never always. What I'm trying to say
is you'll find a way to the end of the day.
Always and forever are best left to divinity,
don't get it wrong chasing a long infinity.

Thirteen Seconds

It takes thirteen seconds for my signal to transmit.
Light speed enabled thanks to quantized bits.
Propagating pathways through the interplanetary mesh.
When I hit the other end I'm put back in to messy flesh.

While I'm a streak of photons my body isn't really there.
I journey through the universe with my senses fully bare.
I resonate with Saturn's ring, I ride Jupiter's waves.
I tune myself according to our sunlight's golden laser rays.

I'd call it an eternity if it happened any faster.
While I'm in it, hard to say what comes before or after.
I'd call it just an instant if it didn't end so quick,
grey matter's not intended for fast thoughts to stick.

I head out to the broadcast station when I want to really stretch,
and get out past the atmosphere so I can finally catch my breath.
In between the planets I can manage to appear alright,
because I shed all of my shadows, shining as coherent light.

Fuzzslug

I took a trip to the forest where I met a fuzzslug.
It’s got a body like a snail, with fur like a rug.
Not big enough to ride, but they're big enough to hug.
I found one munching mushrooms and shrubs.
I step up slowly, eye stalks start tracking
"I'm sorry, fuzzslug, if I stopped your snacking.
I'm a wayward soul, and I'm trying to find
a way to freshen up this moldy mind."
Fuzz starts to buzz, slug starts to slither,
in the swishing of the fur, I start to hear a whisper:
"It's not where you're going, it's not where you're from,
It's not what you plan, it's not what you've done.
it's the slice in between, that's all that you've got,
because life is a dream whether you like it or not."
In a puff of smoke and a slow-mo flash
fuzzslug lit up into a pile of ash.
I watched it drift up and to my surprise
the vapor rearranged into starry skies.
Amazed by constellations for a couple of hours,
then I laid my head to rest in a bundle of flowers.
Woke up under covers, on my bed, in my room.
Thanks, fuzzslug, I'll be back again soon.

Interruption

Did something happen?
I don't know
news won't load,
posts don't show.

Did someone die?
Did someone win?
Should I go out?
Or stay safe in?

Is this the it
they warned about?
A break, a quake,
some new fallout?

Delay alarm
for just a bit.
It could just be
a server quit.

Are techs somewhere
with logs in hand,
working through
a backup plan?

In these minutes
I can't tell
disaster from
plain network hell.

Goblins Built My PC

I bought a new computer from the goblin shop
I asked what kind it was, they only said “top”.
It was a pretty good price and a pretty big box
so I paid with some rice and some child sized socks.
It’s got 32 gigs of Rocky Mountain Rams
The hardest drive they could find, and 15 fans.
The processor is slotted with 8 enchantment cores
I can hot swap out the crystals in the Ouija motherboard.
There is no power cord, but I think I found a power switch.
When I flip it on, all my teeth start to itch.
Every single pixel is colored carefully
by a pixie parliament where the GPU should be.
It’s got plasma cooling, and it’s way side-clocked
and not a single cap on the keyboard is locked.
It glows near trolls, and it’s dishwasher safe.
It uses printer toner at a reasonable rate.
There’s just one little thing, for all the power that’s within it,
I never really got around to learning to use Linux.

Outlane

Welcome to the field, steely. Ready to play?
Your job? Racking points up on the display.
Don't get distracted by the lights and sound,
just bounce against everything you find around.
Toggle every button and swish through every spinner,
light up every bonus light and you'll come up a winner.
You're hard enough to take it, stay shiny through the pain.
The only thing to fear is a sphere near the drain.
Stick to the flippers, because once you go under,
all that you are is reduced to a number.
A few bits of memory, just a part of the score,
while your body gets polished up and readied for more.
If the quarters stop coming, trigger the endgame
sound the final fanfare then reset the mainframe.
Flash across the circuits, and we're back to the beginning.
Purpose comes from playing, don't seek it in the winning.

Pipe Dream

I went to the kingdom looking for a treat,
a toad offered up some reds to eat.
At twice his height I felt big enough
asked if he had some stranger stuff.
He offered some greens pressed into a moon
I said "I'm not looking to kick the bucket too soon,
and I'm playing hardcore with no continue.
Maybe I'm searching in the wrong kinda venue?"
He closed the door, twisted the lock
said "I got the stock, just hit the block."
Question mark boxing, prize inside,
something pops out, eyes go wide.
We passed it back and forth for a bit under an hour
while we spit hot fire straight off the flower.

Video Brain

I learned to stack blocks, and bust blocks for ghosts
and I could cruise USA from coast to coast.
I don't want to boast, but I can make some toast
with an incredible machine that does it better than most.

Plumber brother got me going with the jump and run,
and it's unreal what I do with a plasma gun.
X had cannon that dialed in the right one,
There's a pink puff sucking powers like a Dyson.

Turned to strategy, real time to plan ahead.
In the age of empires, the alerts are always red.
Chills hearing nuclear launch detected,
man my missile command so they get deflected.

Reflexively, I can flex three keys
and land the lunar lander with dexterous ease.
I can dock at star stations, and sign treaties
between galactic empires and pirate fleets.

I've made coasters and cars, theme parks and mansions.
I've played in a band and spun around dancin'.
I've saved the helpless, the city, and the planet
then I thought I lost the save and got back out at it.

Drift doubled every turn, zero friction is a habit,
Flying with no pilot wings, save the frog dramatics.
I've ground the levels, and I've caught them all.
Rocket through the league with my monkey ball.
Messing up some mechs, I cackle as the titans fall
and I'll smash through the melee in an ultimate brawl.

No halo on my head, but check under my tread,
while I lead a team to live when we're all left for dead.
I can run the rooftops dancing on the mirror's edge
and when I put you in the air I'm hogging on to the ledge.

My raid group is grand master,
my speed runs are faster.
I stutter step my tempo
to interrupt your flow
cause I'm not a droolin' newbie button masher.

I'm not big on gore, but my killing floor
looks like it came between a meat boy and the door.
I'm making mischief shake-shaking my score
I'm taking your boat, so take a Spot on the shore.

I show up to blow it up, that's the plan of attack
I'm using the fuse, so just take a step back!
Stash a spinfusor before I lay down a trap.
When you see me bust a move, I'm running for a cap.

Growing up folks told me I was gonna rot my brain,
but the first way I was a wizard was in video games.

Review

I'm living somewhere between past and present
between stressin', and the act of extracting lessons
from the penitentiary of my recent memory
sifting the salt to pull gems from the sediment.
I'm hesitant to admit how much I do it,
live a little life, then I pause to review it.
Scrubbing through the footage one frame at time
in my mind to define every angle to it.
Call it it anxiety, or call it being prepared
It's a puzzle mind predicament, I'm pretty well aware
So don't mind me for a minute, I'm just crunching for clues
making new views of what was already there.

Little Winds

A snail has a way of showing
that our quick attention
masks their intention.
So much that even slowing
down to look close
and focus on the motion,
we ask where they are going.
And if we turn our gaze
for part of a day
we have little chance of knowing
which way was forward
after we were bored.
Little winds slowly flowing.

Silver Rain

There's a kind of rain in the Pacific Northwest,
well, there's few, but one I think is specifically the best.
If you turn your head right you'll see streaks in the mist,
But if you glance out the window, it's likely to be missed.
If it was colder they'd be sharper and you could see them glisten,
But in the foggy wet your best bet is just to listen.
You can hear the patter of a million little drum beats,
Precipitated syncopated static patterns in the sleet.
This rain only comes when the sky is a silver haze,
and it tends to arrive surrounded by some stormy days
But don't mistake the downpour as the main attraction,
We rain every way, so we like the subtle action.
If you walk in it a minute, you'll get a little wet
But it's honestly no bother to feel sprinkles on your head
It lets up in a moment, or an hour, or a week
but sure as day the sun will come to take a little peek
and when it does the flowers here all have some extra shine
so I don't mind the silver rain that falls from time to time.

Fire Flock

Searing, streaking, fire breathing
flock of squawking birds with seething
fire where they fly up
higher than a shooting star.

Soot and cinder, snowing embers,
flares in air where dare they enter
dives that streak the skies
entertwined in lines of char.

Watch them set the clouds ablaze
vapor making rainbow haze
they play all day and fade away
with the setting sun.

I wonder if they lay to rest,
in batches of black ashy nests
or if they are the stars recharging
for tomorrow's fun?

Supposed to Be

I bet you can't.
You can tell me about weather histories.
You can lecture me about nutrients.
You can diagram the carbon cycle.
You can chart the soil composition.
You can survey the topography.
You can place it on a map.
You can tell me who it belongs to.
Or who cared for it.
You can point out where that branch fell off.
You can show me pictures of how it used to be.
You can tell me if it's living.
You can guess how long it has left.
You can decorate it.
You can celebrate it.
But I bet you can't draw me a picture,
of what that tree was supposed to be.
Because no matter how much you know
about how things could have been
you can't look at these branches
and point to the part that's wrong.

There Isn't Much left

"There isn't much left," he said, between cigarettes,
"I would have liked to do more, but I'm OK with those regrets."
And so he sat and watched the streams with the volume too loud
wishing coughing fits could ever get drowned out.

"There isn't much left," doc said, with scan in hand
"Your lungs are almost gone, as expected with your plan."
His body wasn't strong enough, honestly, to stop.
He knew he'd have a pack in his hand when he dropped.

"There isn't much left," I said, driving into town
for another pack of cigarettes and liquor, feeling down.
His mind is made up and so he's on his way out,
but I'm buying him the poison that he can't live without.

There isn't much left, but to spend some time with him.
Until the day his last pack finally did him in.
We announced his final wishes and distributed his things
even though they all smelt like god-forsaken nicotine.

There isn't much left, just some smokey memories
of times he had the wits to be a mentor and a friend to me.
But those were years ago, when he made it to the final stretch
his needed fresh air, but there wasn't much left.

Fresh Freeze

Zip along the slip and slide
and grab a grip or trip and glide.
Step nicely on the icy path,
you might be safe from skids.

Or stay inside where warm resides,
and keep your hide safe where it's dry.
Advise from wiser eyes?
Let's play outside like we were kids.

Coat and boots and hat on head
we'll throw snowballs, make ramps and sled
And warm up cocoa on the stove
when we're finally chilled.

As the stars fill up the night
the wilderness is calm and bright.
In the snow the fields we know
aren't stifled, they are stilled.

Just Ask Sometimes

There's a difference between hoping and seeking
the same as the difference between dreaming and speaking.
If you don't speak your heart, how's the world supposed to know?
Eyes are pretty, but I'm pretty sure your voice reveals your soul.

I used to keep it in, my desires were my secrets
I was a bit convinced that collecting was indecent.
I thought that getting what I wanted was an impossible task
until I learned sometimes, I just have to ask.

Our brains are machines that explain why not.
Feeling good, having fun, till we hurt, then it stops,
and it makes a new memory, encodes a fresh lesson
to keep away from whatever we found so distressing
Impressing stress in rather messy ways,
Signals get fuzzy as the details fade
and we grow to fear anything even kinda similar
so growing up is growing scared, it's really kind of sinister.

So of course you have a list of all the reasons why
you stay unsatisfied, but afraid to even try.
So do I, and for me that almost ended tragically
until I found a way to live my life more magically.
I try my best not to invest in too much woo,
I trust a scientific method to tell me what's true.
But believing is a tool, and I'm a utilitarian
and this one let me love the brain underneath my hair again:
If I speak my intention in fully formed thoughts
I find what I need, more often than not.

It doesn't always come easy, there's usually a cost
but now I've got a compass, instead of feeling lost.
Ask for too much, it's as bad as too little
but there's a sweet spot somewhere in the middle
where you have a couple dreams, and you open up to help
and the universe conspires for you to help yourself.
It's not quite prayer, it's not quite meditation.
It's more like manual transfiguration.
The act of condensing desire into sentences
illuminates a path, that's what my main premise is.

There my be a bigger current, there might be a deeper well
but I'm happing dipping toes, so far it's served me well.
I asked for a path away from dark pits
now I'm sending my art to the stars for kicks.
I asked for love that didn't cast shade
now my lover sparkles brighter than the sunniest days.
I asked for a chance to rest and recover,
and discovered what my family means to each other.
Now I ask to be seen, and I ask to be heard
and I try to be the kind of guy who's worth what he deserves.
I get to tickle algorithms and arrange my favorite words
I'm a laser fractal space wizard, I know it sounds absurd
but I asked to live a life like this, I'm happy that I do.
So try out asking sometimes, see if it works for you.

Jupiter's Feast

It may seem far away, I know,
but today Jupiter betrayed Io,
Europa, and Ganymede
electing it was time to feed
on carefree cousin Callisto,
poor Callisto.

At first it might not bother you.
After all what could you do
to impair or interfere
with affairs of the spheres?
You might not even miss, oh,
poor Callisto.

But grab a nerd and pull them near.
Ask about the math and hear
how the apparent force involved
no calculator seems to solve.
And wonder just what gripped a hold of
poor Callisto.

What else might fall within the reach
when the titan decides to feast?
Will Earth and Mars become a snack?
Or are we safer this far back
from the monster planet picking on
poor Callisto?

Morphing Sue

I met her at a party, friends call her Morphing Sue.
She said she had a secret to keep the nights from feeling blue.
She had soft fuzzy hair in the hard club lights,
and asked me how well I planned to sleep that night.

We wandered back to her place, where she gave me the tour,
wasn't much more there than a mattress and a floor.
"Who needs more stuff when I have enough to dream?"
and she pulled out a couple pills so she could show me what she means.

She dreamt about a fireplace, she dreamt about a fire,
every time she'd start to wake, another pill to get her higher.
She dreamt about the limelight, she dreamt of outer space,
while I held her and beheld her pretty, silent, smiling face.

She dreamt us a vacation, an island getaway,
in her dream we'd hide inside, and dream the days away.
She asked me if I liked it, I said I didn't know,
her dreams sure sound amazing, but out here they didn't show.

I dared to dream about romance and what we could become,
she told me, if she's honest, dreaming sounds more fun.
So when my dreams were finished, only one thing left to do,
I left, and wished my best to the dreamer Morphing Sue.

Algae Rhythms

We liked to talk a lot and so we thought that we were able
to make the process easier with underwater cables
which carried signals quickly across Atlantic tides.
The same waves where wicked seaweed resides.
About the time got around to digitizing data
seaweed figured out that certain signals sounded greater,
and started growing near the cables closer to seafloors.
They groove out to our network traffic, out under the shores.

For a couple decades, it all worked well enough.
We kept on laying lines, the weeds kept on sprouting up.
We send them megabyte meters with an 8-bit beat.
Over time they'd come to find specific patterns super sweet.
They like it when we tweet, when we bicker and we beef.
So they integrated with the cables, grew right through the sheath!
They learned to churn the networks for the tastiest noise.
With seaweed in the middle, humans didn't have a choice.

We didn't even notice, we were too busy making posts
complaining about exposure and whoever got the most.
We blame human behavior and code implementations
and sneak suspicious stares at the super-corporations.
While we point our fingers, seaweed’s tugging on our strings
I'm telling you, these Algae Rhythms ruin everything.

Lag Spike

We think of lag as a slowing
in the data that is flowing
down the wires
with our desires
while our ping is quickly growing.
But as often as it's not,
it's actually a loss.
A signal tapered off
and some data missed the log,
or a router lost power
while trying to transmit.
You're trying to submit
but the electrons called it quits.

This happens all the time,
more than you might suspect.
But we ought to tip our hats
to to the nerds with respect,
because every packet gone missing
has another one behind it
if the client misses one,
there's another to remind it
and another after that,
and more ready in the queue.
They keep firing the same message,
until it makes it through
and a signal bounces back
confirming "Message received,
we got that chunk of data,
we're ready to proceed."

Humans are pretty clever,
upon closest inspection,
we bend light to talk and laugh
over imperfect connections.

Reality is Complicated

Believing things is simple, finding truth is tricky.
Reality is in between, it gets complicated quickly.
I can't tell you how it is, only show you how I see it,
but every time I take a closer look I find a deeper secret.
I make crafts with fractal math, mixing chaos and equations.
Simple rules and special tools make stunning presentations.
I wonder if the world outside my screen is just the same,
iterated patterns in some cosmic chaos game?
But even if we are, I've found a niche that works for me,
exploring all the nuance, and sharing what I see.
Sometimes it's with a render, sometimes it's with a poem,
sometimes it's with a story of explorers far from home.
And sometimes it's with a question, or a smile or a wink,
that let's you know I know you know there's more than what we think.
I'm happy that you're here, among the stuff that I've created
while I explore the simple truth that Reality is Complicated.

Going Faster

I think we're going faster, faster than I think
and faster at getting faster, so we're well past the brink.
It's not disaster exactly, it could be awesome actually
but guesses aren't facts, and the future's fast factually.

It'd be better to go steady, but our kings report quarterly
so we're off to the races, with the lanes all disorderly.
Something's seeping in to the streamers' stream of consciousness
and artificial dreams are looking opulently ominous.

Optimism on my arms, like a safety blanket.
Worried if I get cold, I'm writing fear a blank check.
Curious is currency, I spend like I'm addicted,
but I cashed the rain checks on every future I predicted.

The terrors of tomorrow come from the toys of yesterday.
The prophets of the future start with profits made today.
We're buckled to our seats whether we like it or not
but is this a rocket rising or a roller coaster drop?

When we hit the top of the rail or the atmosphere
put your hands up, scream, let 'em know you're here.
Because we're not the destination or the length of the travel,
we're the story of our senses while we watch a world unravel.

New Keyboard

This means I'm happy!
THIS MEANS I'M MAD!
this means im here
this = sad.

This, and this, and this, excited.
This, I guess, is bored.
ThIs MeAnS i'M sIlLy,
thie is new keuyboard.

Wonder If

Used to wonder if I could, 'til one day I tried.
Used to wonder if I meant it, 'til I found my pride.
Used to wonder if I'm good enough, 'til I saw the smiles.
Used to wonder if I had the range, 'til I wandered miles.

Used to wonder if I'd make it, 'til I made a lot of stuff.
Used to wonder if I'd survive, 'til I found I'm tough enough.
Used to wonder if I'd break apart and split right down the seems
until I opened up my heart and started spilling all my dreams.

I am used to wondering, it's most of what I do.
But these days the inner gaze has turned to something new.
I wonder "what" not "if", because "if" becomes a "'til"
when I offer to my wonder just a little bit of will.

Complicated Reality

The Poetry Wall

Jump Links