Every breath
is pure bliss –
an inhalation
of cosmic debris
sent from the source
to coat the lungs
with vibrations of light.

Every new dawn
is a miracle –
sunburnt radiation
pulsing from the sky
to singe the flesh
with encoded DNA
from ethereal realms.

Every touch
is electric –
skin kissed
by God’s presence
in a holy union
of enlightenment
accelerated through the soul.

Every whisper
is a song –
celestial sirens
humming the frequency
of heaven’s tune
with fiery chorus
from the lips of angels.

---

This is an unpublished poem written a few days ago. Just a short little piece with a light and fluffy energy to counterbalance the bleak apocalyptic prophecy of yesterday’s fiery verse. We must, after all, keep the scales from teetering too far one way or the other.

An audioBoom recording

---

My poem “Yawning Stars” is included in the new August issue of A Long Story Short. The issue is available online and will also be available in print at some point in the near future. The poem was written back in mid-April, inspired by an off-the-cuff remark made by someone I was spending quite a bit of time with there for awhile as we were driving home early in the morning. She and I haven’t been hanging out the past couple of months, but this poem has sure had a healthy existence so far, as this is now the fourth venue it’s been published in.

My weekly Sunday poem at Dissident Voice is out today. “Fade to…” is a piece written a few weeks ago. Like most of what I write recently, penned in the woods at the local park.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

The sun died unexpectedly this morning
from a sudden heart attack
while trying to shove the new dawn
up and over the horizon
to bleed solar rays of light
upon an ungrateful world.

A fallen star thrashing across the sky
with violent seizures
and death throes of desolation,
pouring outward the last dose of hope
into a poisoned atmosphere blinded by despair.

The blue moon wept as it waned,
going into a shocked state of mourning.
Unable to reciprocate the reflection
of its lost lover,
the broken orb went into hiding
on the dark side of itself,
casting naught but shadows
upon a fallen black planet.

With frigid cold came the new age,
blistered to the marrow of the bone
by a cryogenic glimpse of extinction
as revelation fever brought forth prophecies
heralding total collapse into entropy;
the harbinger of chaos arrived in full splendor,
delivering a kick to the gut
of a species already on the brink of disaster.

The sun was buried beneath the waves…
Welcome to the funeral…
Whisper your final prayer as the oxygen burns out…

---

This is a poem that I wrote yesterday while in the woods at the local park, which has been my basic habit now for the past couple of months as I walk up there each day to meditate, listen to music, hammer out words, and jog.

But to hell with all that jazz…August has arrived…and that means that new journals are out today.

I’m happy to have a poem appear in issue 3 of Sarah Frances Moran’s Yellow Chair Review. This has definitely been one of my favorite new indie lit venues since it burst onto the scene a few months ago. I believe that there are big things in the future for YCR, and I’m happy to have now contributed to each monthly issue so far. “Kittens and Cupcakes” can be checked out at this link.

Issue 3 of Sonic Boom is also out today. Many thanks to Shloka Shankar for including my poem “Orange Crush Paradise” in this issue.

Also released today is the nature-themed August issue of Indiana Voice Journal, edited by Janine Pickett. I’m honored to have my words appear for the second time in this journal. “Rush Hour” and “Fill in the Blanks” are both original pieces, while “Yawning Stars” was first published in Dissident Voice and later in The Fat Damsel.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Alrighty, time for an end of the month recap on all the fun and games of the past 31 days: July 2015 Edition.

First off, I’d like to say thank you to all the editors at the following 32 venues for publishing my work this month and/or accepting work to appear in forthcoming issues:

Yellow Chair Review, Revolution John, Burningword Literary Journal, The Screech Owl, Visual Verse, The Poet Community, Black Mirror Magazine, A New Ulster, Dissident Voice, Aphelion, Whispers, Dead Snakes, Social Justice Poetry, Indian Periodical, Leaves of Ink, Horror Sleaze & Trash, Medusa’s Kitchen, experiential-experimental-literature, Harbinger Asylum, Your One Phone Call, Section 8 Magazine, Ygdrasil, Peeking Cat Poetry, Indiana Voice Journal, Poetry Quarterly, Sonic Boom, Piker Press, The Fat Damsel, Rasputin, First Literary Review-East, Syzygy, and A Long Story Short.

I’ve been working like an absolute fiend this month to get the link to my blog in front of as many eyes as possible. Thankfully, the effort has proved to be quite fruitful, as this month’s metrics grew considerably on every front. Anyone who follows my blog, leaves comments, likes posts, or just stops by from time to time to check out what’s going on, I want to say a big thank you. It truly means the world to me. I’m not just whistling in the wind here without a plan…I have very big dreams for the future. Right now I’m still just trying to plant as many seeds as possible while cultivating the soil so that I can hopefully reap the harvest in a later season some years down the line. To anyone who hasn’t had the opportunity to check out 17Numa, please feel free to give it a glance here…https://17numa.wordpress.com/

I’ve also been trying to connect with as many poets as possible in the writing communities over on Twitter this month. There are around 30 different daily word prompt challenges that I’ve come across so far, and I’ve been doing my best to participate in every single one. Which is a helluva lot of Twitter verse. I’ve written at least 600 micro poems in July, and there are still a few hours left, so why stop now, eh? I’d love to connect with everyone on Twitter. If you’re so inclined, come say hello here…https://twitter.com/17Numa

OK, time to lay waste to the shameless self-promotion part of the show, and put an end to the narcissistic portion of this transmission.

Well, I might have jumped the gun… there is one last thing to mention. On a personal note, it’s now been over two months since I had a drink of alcohol. My diet is cleaner than it has been in years. I walk every day to the local park where I hammer out poetry in the woods. I jog four or five times a week in the sweltering Summer sun, pulling out toxins from a lifetime of debauchery. So, yeah, thank God, things are going smoothly at the moment. I fluxed with the chaos for awhile, but now I’m flowing with the Tao River once again. Hell, I’m so busy there’s not even time to think about how alone I am…

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

We have come
for your women and children.

We have come
for your silver and gold.

We have come
for your oil and opium.

We have come
with a pretense of peace
to bring hell upon your land.

We have come
with a pillar of salt.

We have come
with a manifest destiny
to shove down your throat.

We have come
to suck dry your land
and then leave it behind
as an arid desert for you to perish upon.

We have come
as wolves in sheep’s clothing.

We have come
with smiling faces,
crossed fingers,
and bombs strategically held behind our backs.

We have come
with banks
to pilfer everything you’ve worked for.

We have come
with mercury for your shots,
pesticide for your food,
smog for your air,
and a cross for you to bear and bow down before.

We have come
with our program of chaos
and promises of a New Order.

We have come
with our machines
to welcome in a future
where humanity is obsolete.

We have come
with our blueprint
for a One World Revelation Kingdom.

We have come
with our televised frequencies
to keep your revolution in a trance.

We have come
with our marketing campaign
to make you feel inept and worthless.

We have come
and conquered
while you slept in apathy.

---

This poem originally appeared back in March at Dissident Voice. I’ve been contributing a piece each week at DV for their Sunday Poetry Page for the past ten months now. The editor, Angie Tibbs, was the first person to accept one of my poems last year, and it’s been a great relationship ever since. I will forever be grateful to her for giving me the boost of confidence I needed to really start sending my poetry out. I’ve been fortunate to have now been published in over 100 venues, and to have work forthcoming in a couple dozen more. All the journals, magazines, blogs, and zines that have accepted work of mine are listed on the Links Page of this site.

Speaking of which, another venue where this particular poem has appeared at is Guy Farmer’s site Social Justice Poetry. Guy has been another great editor to work with, allowing me to contribute quite often at three different blogs he runs.

Dissident Voice Archive

Social Justice Poetry Archive

---

I found a new toy to play with yesterday, and I just know that I’m going to have a whole lot of fun with it in the days and weeks ahead. I’m speaking of the recording platform SoundCloud. The first poetry recording I did was of one of my favorite pieces that I’ve ever written, “3,2,1…,” which was published in the most recent issue of Burningword Literary Journal.

You can listen to the reading by clicking on this link.

If you enjoy what you read at this blog, please follow it, leave a comment, share the posts, spread the word, or just play it cool and keep your silence for now. Whatever route you choose to take, just be sure to continue checking in to see what happens next…I have very big plans for the future.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Just…being…pushed
to the edge
and then cracking
Just…being…lost
in the high
of the venom
Just…being…stormed
at the gates
near to heaven
Just…being…wronged
all over
again

Just…wanting…more
than has
been given
Just…taking…all
that is fair
within reach
Just…being…god
all alone
for a moment
Just…coming…down
to laugh
at the fall

---

This poem originally appeared at Stephen Jarrell Williams’ poetry site Dead Snakes back in December of 2014 along with A River Between Us.

---

I’ve had very little published the past few days, but here are the links to what has come out:

Naked Embrace – The Poet Community

Ignorance Is Bliss – The Poet Community

Divine Education – Dead Snakes

Where the Ugly Things Go to Die – Dead Snakes

Know Thy Purpose, Draw Thy Weapon – Dissident Voice

Excuse me,
did anyone happen to notice
that the world is on fire?

Like,
uhm,
does anyone have
a pail
of water?

---

An Abstract Vision of Paradise

Into the infinite void where spaciousness calls out with a silent vibrating hum.  Vibrant electricity gets shocked and magnetized by polar extremes to find coordinated balance at a perfect center point.  Radiation on a cosmic scale ushers forth a positive growth transformation.  DNA transmutation.  Cellular regeneration.  The evolution of enlightenment.  Coming to a consciousness near you.  Playing out nightly in every city across the world.  First act in a Renaissance Revolution.  Reborn with the fiery wings of a Phoenix rising upward from out its own ash.  Transcendent and stationed beyond the normal limitations, boundaries and rigors of a boxed-in, poorly contemplated conceptualization of context.  No longer able to idly abide the decadence, decay, disillusionment and deplorable conditions of a declining culture as it swiftly falls off the edge of a cliff.  Taking back control from self-professed leaders who are nothing more than hired guns for multinational, fascist, corporate banking interests.  Casting a spell of good fortune with white magic to counteract the acidic nature of usury and counterfeit fiat currency currently being issued forth from an out of control printing press and fractional reserve system hopped up on steroids.

A fresh style coming into fashion.  That which is old shall be made new again.  A better view taking shape and molding into place.  Gears turning.  Wheels spinning.  Ideas finding fruition.  Distortion in the rearview begins to fade out as it’s rendered irrelevant and no longer evident as prima facie.  Clear vision is the new cool.  Hyped up fashion takes the stage.  Naked eye epiphanies.  Jump on board the moving train.  Clean the body to clear the mind.  A healthy gut equates in direct correlation with a positive mental perspective.  Viewpoint taken from the depths of the sludge up to the heights of the clouds.  Outlook brought full circle around the spinning cycle, looping out of the swamp and settling firmly atop the peak of a mountain.  Soaring with precise calculations of committed determination.  Resiliency on display.  Trophies in the case.

The sacred symbolic crystal has an infinite number of angles from which to perceive life’s image from.  Which one do you choose to view?  Where is your vision focused?  How is your energy spent?  Do you get a good bang for the buck?  Are you at peace with the credit earned?  Are you getting solid returns?  Is your karma sheet balanced out?  Is your quota being fulfilled?  Is your heart lighter than a feather?  Does your soul sing in the rain?  Or are you waiting around for a perfect sun to rise before you crack a smile?  Can you see tomorrow in today?  Or are you lost amidst the swirling confusion of a past that is caught on infinite repeat?  Did you receive the new memo on Revelation?  Or are you stuck in a cubicle at a desk job reading through old copy?

Welcome to the New Day and Age.  Version 2.0.  A Golden Apocalypse.  The truth rises to the surface and radiantly shines forth with a fury of focus.  But so, too, does the pond scum also rise.  All the more conducive for creating the correct conditions in which to identify it, skim it off the top, and toss it away into the trash heap of history.  Nature has an organic reflex toward self preservation.  Purpose is found in everything.  Reason abounds across the ages.  Pinpoint accuracy of rhythm.  Harmony as a rule of thumb.  Balance established between both brain hemispheres.  Natural Order of Creation as a finely tuned experiment.  The interconnected, interrelated, incredibly ingenious web of All and Everything homogenized and coordinated to coalesce and come together in perfectly amalgamated congruency.  Coincidence playing out in real time.  Synchronicity of the primal pattern.  Emerging from the primordial ooze.  The infinite and eternal egg of pure cosmic beingness sucks down the radiant rays from a coronal mass ejection emitted by solar energy and hatches posthaste with a quickness.

As above, so below.  As within, also without.  Astrological cycles pulsing outward through dimensions of the space/time continuum.  Wide awake regions of atmospheric pressure are instantaneously alerted to the gravitational pull of zero-point theory in perpetual motion.  Wound up tight and set for release.  Rubber band effect put to the test.  Hypothesized and pulled out of the hat.  Rabbits digging for a carrot on a stick.  The vegetables do have consciousness.

Every extreme has a counterpoint.  Seesawing back and forth across the galactic core.  It is always best to balance out and walk the middle path as the precession turns.  Straight and narrow like a sharpened razor navigating upon the needlepoint of a pin.  Staying steady while approaching the entrance to the gates.  Pearly wonder.  Golden streets.  Jeweled utopia.  Crystal city.  Atlantis risen.  Heaven bound.  Knock and it shall be opened.  Ask and answers surely come.  Sing and the chorus joins in.  Dance and the party begins.  Laugh and the joy erupts.  Smile and a new world is created.  Manifest destiny with a siren call in the distance.  All it takes is a single step forward.  Mind focused.  Body at ease.  Mindful breathing.  Pushing through distractions.  Pulsing out distortion.  Turning away from the demons of temptation.  Satan, get thee behind us.  Choosing the better angels of our conscience.  Tuning in to hear the still, small voice that speaks intuitively from within.  Core alignment.  Higher value algorithm.  Multiplying the additions of peaceful fruition until the bounty is overflowing.  A cup that runneth over.  A wellspring of eternal Love.  Unconditional in Nature.  Grace of glory.  Blessings of beatitude.  Song of the stars recorded in the soul.  Message from the Source received in the heart.  The Kingdom of God is found within.  Nirvana is always just a thought away.  The fluid River of Tao flows as purified blood through pulsing veins.  Feverishly pumping.  Fervently seeking a firm foundation upon which to stand.  Screaming from the hilltop.  Finally found in the infinite light of awareness.  The stoic, sturdy determination to survive.  The intention to thrive.  Self preservation.  Angelic protection.  Guardians in neon disguises stationed at every corner and around every bend, ready to help with invisible hands all those who walk their dharmic path of bliss.  A universal will that cannot be denied.  Floodgates open.  Spring cleaning commences.  Welcome to the ceremony.  Baptism begins.

---

“An Abstract Vision of Paradise” is an excerpt from the book “Zero-Point Graduation” which I wrote back in the Spring and Summer of 2014. Other excerpts have been published in venues such as Dissident Voice, The Daily Anarchist, Veracity Voice, Eunoia Review, and The Chaffey Review. A lot of the book is just an exercise in having fun…fucking around with words, language, and ideas to create wild, hallucinatory, prose-fusion meanderings through the psyche.

If you made it this far, God bless your sweet little soul. If you feel so inclined, please follow this blog, like this post, share, leave a comment, curse me out, or engage in whatever other way you feel to be appropriate (scream about it from the mountain top, or keep your lips sealed in silence).

Also, if you’re into the whole social media scene, come connect with me on Twitter and Facebook.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

I have respect
for those who beg on street corners
asking strangers for spare coins.

I consider them little Buddhas
with their outstretched hands
representing a rice bowl.

I’d gladly give
my last dollar
to one of these forgotten castoffs
before I’d throw
my lot in
with the high priests of this fallen world.

---

This poem originally appeared at Social Justice Poetry back in February of this year.

I think it basically speaks for itself, no? Raise the meek and disenfranchised on high while casting down that caste of dark occultists that currently conspires to bring hell upon the earth by weaving their spells of desolation and destruction from plush ivory towers down into the broken institutions of this world – be they governmental, educational, religious, economic,  or especially the corporate media.

And that’s enough of all that for the moment, eh? I’m not really in the mood to fully delve into the subject of the dark priests. I’ve tackled certain aspects of the conversation in some of my essays that were written for The Daily Anarchist last year. Sweet Jesus, it really has been over a year since I was swimming in those political/social/economic waters. My mind has been so focused on poetry for the past eight or nine months, the thought of hammering out an essay seems bizarre and ungodly at the moment. But I’m sure that the need to spew a political screed will return one day soon. The urge to rant is strong in this one…it runs deeply in my veins, and can never be fully expunged from my heart.

Feel free to friend me on Facebook and follow me on Twitter. It’s always nice to connect with y’all.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

I don’t want wisdom.
I don’t want truth.
I don’t want love.
I don’t want peace.
I don’t want revolution.
I don’t want sex.
I don’t want God.
I don’t want fame.
I don’t want power.
I don’t want faith.
I don’t want hope.
I don’t want passion.
I just want one more clever thing to say
on social media.

---

This poem originally appeared a few months ago at Guy Farmer’s site Poems and Poetry.

Not a whole hell of a lot on my mind this morning. But feel free to check out other pages on this blog where perhaps there can be found some far more interesting and in depth analysis concerning this existential problem we refer to as life.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Some people say
that the truth
is too hard to handle,
too hot to touch,
too explosive to get near…

but I say
that karma
without the truth
is too much to bear,
too heavy to carry,
and too much of a burden
to experience again
as the next cycle turns –

---

My weekly Sunday poem at Dissident Voice is out today. You can read Know Thy Purpose, Draw Thy Weapon at this link.

Hit me up on FB and Twitter if you want to stay in touch. Hope to hear from you.

Please feel free to leave comments, critiques, compliments, or concerns of any kind here on the blog. They are very much appreciated.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Your love is like a wave sent from God,
crashing over me,
taking my breath away,
pulling me under
where the flames of my heart
can be quenched
in deep waters
that I’ve never
quite learned how to swim.

---

A few recent publications:

Issue 7 of Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine was released yesterday. My poem “Three-Legged Dog” appears within.

Issue 30 of Section 8 Magazine’s print zine contains my poem “Untitled/Entitled.”

The August issue of Ygdrasil features my two poems “Held Lovingly” and “Erupting Tide.”

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar