Pearls of Perception

The lessons learned in defeat can be just as sweet as the satisfaction found in victory.
 
The only person to be in competition with is yourself. Become a better man each day, and there is reason to sleep soundly.
 
Always moving forward, yet always reverent for the past.
 
There is wisdom in some suffering, and there is evolution found in silence.
 
Let the burden of the beast be released.
Let the eyes of the prize be rewarded.


My poem “Chaos Calling” appears in volume XIX of Torrid Literature Journal, recently released in print.

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January 2017 Recap

Lofty Is the Grace of God
 
What if there was a high that actually satisfied?
What if there was a hit
that didn’t need to always be repeated?
What if there did exist
such a state as perfect peace?
Well, hell,
that sounds an awful lot
like death to me
(and I’m not yet ready for the grave).
So pass the next dose this way,
and let’s soar
once more
toward the sky
in this never-ending search
for heaven here on earth.


Thank you to the editors associated with these 19 venues for accepting and/or publishing my work during the month of January:
 
Dissident Voice; Stanzaic Stylings; Visual Verse; Scarlet Leaf Review; GloMag; Stay Weird and Keep Writing; Piker Press; CTU Publishing; Torrid Literature Journal; Nats Writings; Setu Magazine; Novelmasters; Tuck Magazine; Where Are You From Anthology; Indiana Voice Journal; Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine; Whispers; Dodging the Rain; and The Electronic Pamphlet.
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It was an honor to have Happy Hour Hallelujah featured as the book of the month in GloMag. Glory Sasikala is a kind and generous woman. Her magazine continues to shine and sing with each new edition. The write-up for Happy Hour Hallelujah can be read here. My poem “A Time for Everything” also appears later in the issue.
 
The most interesting event to take place during the first month of 2017 was one that didn’t actually happen. That is to say, I was invited to visit Silchar, India for a two-week residency, and to participate as a featured speaker at the Anuvad Arts Festival. Sadly, my schedule would not allow for such a trip at this time, or else I would be there at this very moment, as the residency began on the 1st of February. Even though I was not able to attend this year, it is still a humbling feeling to know that my writing is respected by contemporaries on the other side of the world. I hope (and intend) to one day travel to India so as to read poetry with all the great friends I have made there. In fact, I pray for (and act toward) the day when I will meet with friends from every continent upon this earth. The spirit of Renaissance is not deterred by oceans, but is surfing safely at the peak of roaring waves.
 
I read at Callanwolde Fine Arts Center in Atlanta, Georgia a few weeks ago. A magnificent, beautiful building that creates a sensation of instant awe inside my soul each time I step through the front door. A recording of the event is posted here on my SoundCloud account.
 
Looking forward to more performances lined up in February, especially at the debut of an open mic poetry event that is being hosted by The Southern Collective Experience. This is the beginning of something magical. Anyone living in the greater Atlanta area is welcome to come and make merry. Shoot, there’s no need to limit the parameters on this celebratory situation. Both near and far, please come dance with us. We’ll surely have a time to remember.
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A Black Wave Cometh to Burn

Kiss Me When the Sky Goes Dark
(Preferably with Tongue)
 
 
Release the hounds … of hell … with the fangs of a serpent … dripping fresh blood … stained from the primal slaughter … sacrificed to the gods of war …
 
Bred six feet below … raised from the marrow of ancient bones … a spell of abomination … infused with the instincts of an apocalyptic chimera … a plague … a pestilence … a path gone astray … salvation set to the symphony of chaos …
 
Raining brimstone from the broken sky … a pillar of fire … towering … tumbling … crashing … see no evil … hear no evil … speak no evil … silenced are the muffled cries of innocence … splintered shards of madness … laughter howling across the void …
 
To the victor go the spoils … an arid desert … a ravaged sea … poisoned lungs atrophied in the fallout … candles snuffed sixteen at a time … oxygen huffed from smuggled bottles … sealed with revelations … sold on black market Sundays … drawing lines in the sand … a dark wave cometh … to burn … an escape underground …
 
The law of diminishing returns … folding up shop … economic wasteland … want not … need not … get not … have none … belching hallelujah through toxic plumes … an uttered prayer … an exploding ignition … a half-blind vision of decay … a voice in the distance … a whisper … a promise … a prophecy … of extinction … or evolution …

All Is

Always remember the waves. And how life is one ocean. And how the sharks taste just as sweet as the minnows, because every victory should be cause for celebration. Whether to satisfy a basic hunger, or to conquer the monsters that plague this world. Each task is to be taken with reverence and zero-point focus. Eye of the tiger. King of all pride. But not in vanity.

If I am righteous, then you are perfect.
If I am judged, then you are halo.
If I am laughing, then you are madness.
If I am weeping, then you are gone.

Savage

It’s cool if you want to get all fired up and nasty, all riled, charged, and fit to burst over the atrocities of this world.
 
It is a savage game being human. That’s not new wisdom.
 
But if you’re going to launch all missiles at the drop of a hat, you’d better at least be correct in your analysis of where to target. Which means you damned well ought to be informed about the subject. So unleash the hell of war if it’s righteous. But if you’re a fool fed naught but propaganda, then just shut your mouth and sit in the corner.
 
It’s adult swim now.
 
Your surface level bullshit is sure to get you sunk.


Served Cold
 
Those who live by the sword,
die by the sword.
 
Which could possibly be a lot of fun
while it lasts,
 
but most assuredly really sucks
when you finally get stuck.

I’ve never suffered a fool in my life. I’ve listened to them, laughed with them, laughed at them, and waved them along on their way. Like ships passing in the night. I must always continue toward the light in the distance. It’s not my fault when they wind up crashing on the rocks in the darkness.

Implosive Absolution

Strip away the power from the Beast System. Strip away the power from the IMF, from the World Bank, from the United Nations. And give the power back to the Federal government. Strip away the power from the Federal Government. Strip away the power from the Federal Reserve. And give the power back to the States. Strip away the power from the States. And give the power back to the counties. Strip away the power from the counties. And give the power back to the cities. Strip away the power from the cities. And give the power back to the local communities. Strip away the power from the local communities. And give the power back to the family. Strip away the power from the family. And give the power back to the individual. Strip away the power from the individual. And give the power back to God.


Audio available via SoundCloud

Novelmasters

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I’m not here claiming to have all the answers (just a few when I’m feeling particularly self-righteous). I have, however, searched the cavernous regions of my own psyche fairly deeply during the past several years; I’m pleased with the results, but will never become cocky enough to believe that it’s okay to cease seeking further improvements in every aspect of life. There is no actual state of perfection that exists, only a path that promises to inch ever-closer toward its ineffable nature.

Honestly, I’m just here to have a bit of fun, ignite huge fires (all figurative, of course), and sling words around with the intention that they might land safely by aligning in an interesting order that makes them somewhat entertaining to read. At the end of the day, it’s a primal urge toward Renaissance and Revolution that turns me on. No big deal really.

Anyway, that sort of nonsense wasn’t even the original point of this post. But I simply can’t help myself sometimes. After all, there’s never been a more exciting time to be alive. Please forgive me if I get a bit hyped up now and then.

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I’ll try this again. Deep breath. Focus. OK. When Christopher Gretkus asked me to come on board as a contributing editor at Novelmasters last year, I was more than happy to take him up on the offer, although I did say up front that other responsibilities on my plate might limit the amount of time I’d have to put toward the site. For the most part, this has proven to be true thus far. Thankfully, I have been able to solicit work from a few contemporary poets, and an interview that I conducted with Johnny Longfellow in which he waxes philosophical on a number of topics appeared not too long ago. I’m excited to announce that there are more interviews in the pipeline that will be appearing soon, and I’m going to try my level best to start sending in essays on a regular basis.

The brass tacks of what I’m trying to say here is that Christopher has established one hell of a slick, sleek, finely tuned venue. He’s continually updating and improving the design of Novelmasters, and I hope that you’ll swing by and check out some of the art and literature available to peruse. This page features links to my poetry, essays, and interview at the site.

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Featured Writer: Scott Thomas Outlar

My poem “Continuous Light” was featured at CTU Publishing recently. Thank you to Raja Williams for allowing me to contribute…

Raja's Insight's avatarRaja's Insight

Continuous Light

 

My days do not begin with the sun,

and they do not end with the stars.

My days do not have an alpha,

and they do not have an omega.

My days do not rely on the hours of a clock

or the rotation of the earth.

My days do not require food or water

or oxygen or sleep or prayer or faith.

My days are not spent questioning

the meaning of existence through philosophy.

My days are not days at all

because my life is now but one day,

one moment, one thought, one meditation,

one experience constantly unfolding

as a single, pure, righteous source of light.

My day belongs to you

because my day was born from you.

My day is here, my day is now,

My day is truth, my day is you.

© Scott Thomas Outlar


back-porch-serenity About the Author

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With the Wind

Reconstruction
 
It’s not about the fire
or the spectacle
of this system
going up in flames.
 
It is, as it has always been,
about what comes next
from out of the ashes.
 
Don’t be distracted
by shiny objects.
 
The prize
is what gets birthed
in our new image.

One choice is to get hysterical and lose your shit. Another choice is to stay focused and zone-in on the zero-point at the end of this mission. You can guess which path I’m walking. You can bet I spit with the wind.
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My poem “Eye to Eye” appeared recently here at Stanzaic Stylings.


Sweet and Sour

Open Letter to My Enemies
 
You’re so sexy when you’re mad at me.
 
The only thing that could make this scene sweeter
is if you start to cry.

Can I kiss you while you weep?
But wouldn’t you rather
laugh and howl and
rise and roar?

callanwolde-fine-arts-center-logoI had an opportunity to read a selection of my work at the Callanwolde Fine Arts Center recently in Atlanta, Georgia. While inside this magnificent venue, the permeation of pure poetry pours through one’s blood. It’s an inviting experience. The audio from my set is up here on SoundCloud.
 
The first poem I read at the event was published this week on the Dissident Voice Sunday Poetry Page. “Spinning Sensations” appears at this link.
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