Be true to thyself, and in this way you cannot help but be true to everyone else.

Eight poems published today:

It’s a Power Thing – Social Justice Poetry

Red Lips – Horror, Sleaze and Trash

Corruption – Horror, Sleaze and Trash

Holes in the Hive – Horror, Sleaze and Trash

‘Tis the Season – Horror, Sleaze and Trash

Elusive – Wilderness House Literary Review

Truth – Wilderness House Literary Review

Homeward Bound – Wilderness House Literary Review

It sure makes a blog post easier when you can just flake out at the end of the night and post a bunch of links to poems you’ve published on various sites throughout the day. But don’t get any funny ideas because that shit also takes a hell of a lot of work on the front end.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Sometimes in life there will come storms of utter chaos that blow through with terrible ferocity, uprooting every tree in sight, destroying hundreds of years worth of growth, and leaving the fields barren, cold and empty.  The only thing that can be done after such a cataclysmic event is say, “Oh well,” and then put your hands back in the soil and start planting new seeds for a future season.

Crash Course

Absolute exhaustion
is the rusted death nail
pierced into the side of my frayed mind
that leads to the golden resurrection
of my misplaced forgotten soul

I have fucked up so many times in my life that it would take another entire lifetime to try and count them up. But every once in awhile I get something right…and it makes every mistake I’ve lived through seem worth while…it puts every challenge I’ve undertaken into a new perspective…it makes the trials, tests and tribulations of this human experience seem necessary. Sometimes I grow a little bit as a person, and suddenly I remember what it means to play a part in this constantly unfolding process, to feel, to truly be alive…

I almost forgot what it was to actually feel. But lately I’ve been getting a dose straight to the head/to the heart. Bring it on.

Also, sometimes I remember that my Father passed away fourteen months ago, and, out of nowhere, it breaks my god damn heart.

Eight poems published the past couple of days:

A Primal Roar – Of/With

The Enemy of My Enemy – Expound

Blood and Urine – Expound

Crane the Neck, Bow the Back, Get on with the Show – Expound

System Malfunction – Expound

Memorabilia – Eye on Life Magazine

Adrenaline – Eye on Life Magazine

What I Want for Christmas – Eye on Life Magazine

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Breaking…Break it…Broken…Smash it…then put it all back together…pretend all is right as rain…make believe life is a perfect persuasion toward peace…utopia is just right around the corner…animal nature is just an illusion…angel consciousness is all that exists…suck on that mirage…taste that desert dirt…crash in that sand dune…face that brutal reality…lick it clean…dry your wounds…say your prayers…take your vitamins…yea…keep playing that game…it’s all roses…no thorns…just…drain…the…venom…then…spit…forth…your…antidote…

Life is a fickle creature, constantly changing, rearranging, shifting, fluxing, flowing, fucking things up when they seem perfect, rising new life up from the grave when it all seems like naught but ashes…it’s unexplainable…it’s not meant to be understood…it is an enigma…it is a cliche…it is a hardcore blast to the head…it is a final whisper in the darkest hour…it is a new light in the breaking dawn…it is the catastrophe that brings chaos…it is the higher state of emergent order…it is a blackout…it is a whitewash…it is a crisis…it is cancer…it is light breaking through the dam…it is love resurrecting itself at all costs…it is the great overcoming…it is the final emergence…it was…it is…is shall ever be…

Two poems published today:

Without Answer – Poems and Poetry

Shifting Rhythms of the Symphony – Halcyon Magazine (Spring 2015)

Also had a piece (Sensitive) accepted for the upcoming debut issue of Culture Trend which should be out sometime next month.

As much as I try to pretend that all I care about is creating my legacy as a writer…it just isn’t true…I do have a heart…and I’d like for it to be fulfilled at some point…

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

I can’t ever say what I feel
because it’s too strong…
always on the verge of starting a fire…
so I blunt it out with dead abstractions,
else I get too close to God.

As far as blog posts go, this is about as lame as they come…but I’ve got nothing to say (or I’m just getting lazy) so I’m pleading the fifth, except to say this…I had a couple poems published today:

Chasing the Dragon – Dissident Voice

On the Prowl – Mad Swirl

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Original content? Ok. Pucker up, butter cup, ’cause here it comes in waves. Psych. I’ve got nothing left to offer at this late hour. I couldn’t even possibly wing it. I’m just too damn tired…too worn down…too broken…too flayed…too massacred…too given over to the dark side that only longs for sleep. I could never pull something out of the hat that had any type of residual value. There is not an ounce of profit left in my sold out soul. There is no silver gleaming in this bag that I traded for the savior’s flesh. I hung him up there on the cross myself. I licked the sweat off his ripped apart wrists as the blood dripped down in the blistering sun. Fuck all, that even sounds dark to me…and I’m used to the shit that spews forth from my consciousness in these types of moments. Well, why not keep pushing the envelope? Why not shit on the soul of the collective consciousness? Why not put a dagger in the heart of true love? Why not kiss off and call it complete? It’s all just a joke. It’s all going broke. No, wait, that’s me…but I’ll recover…the fortune is getting closer by the day…planting seeds…laying a foundation upon which the empire can be built…

Three poems published today at different venues:

Blooming Like Winter – Poems and Poetry

Taking Measure of the Situation – Social Justice Poetry

Whatever Works for Ya – The Screech Owl

Volume 17 Issue 1 of The First Line arrived in the mail today. It contains my short story ‘Stoking the Fire’. Originally submitted as a poem, the editors made a wise decision and asked me if it could be converted into a different form. Upon seeing their notes, I fully agreed to the switch. It’s always nice to work with people you trust. For the most part this has been my experience so far while submitting and publishing. Of course, every once in awhile some complete fool will try and fuck around with something they have no business altering. But these types of failed critics are easy to walk away from after having shaken off the dust.

Karma will crush the impostors while elevating the higher breed to the loftiest heights. Christ, I always come back to the ‘evolve or die’ type consciousness. It’s pretty ingrained in my psyche at this point (thanks a lot, Nietzsche).

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

The new issue of Harbinger Asylum (Spring 2015) was released today. It contains my poems “A Whispered Sacrifice” and “Karmic Feeding Frenzy”.

I had three poems accepted at Eye on Life Magazine this morning.

Dead Snakes published these two pieces: “System Shift” and “Date Night” – one of which is about my unquenchable love for red wine. Things are starting to get fairly serious between us. In fact, I’m head over heels for the girl. I’m even thinking about popping the question soon.

The Mind[less] Muse published: Points 12-21 of One Hundred Poetic Points. I wrote this fucker back in 2003 and have been sending out excerpts here and there over the past month or so.

There are much better blog entries than this one scattered throughout the past couple of months since I began this social media experiment…I recommend reading those instead of dwelling on the lack of content this sluggish bastard contains. A few publications and acceptances today. Yea, yea, yea…what else is going on in your life, Bubba? Not a whole helluva lot…it’s pretty much a one-pointed focus at this stage of the game. Success or annihilation. See you on the other side.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

My piece Ain’t That Sweet won first place in the poem of the week contest at Cultured Vultures today. That’s cool. I also had four poems accepted at Expound Magazine for future publication. That’s cool. None of it puts any cash in my wallet or helps to fill the existential hole in the core of my burnt out soul. Nothing ever will, actually. That’s just the way this game gets played. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles. These are the cards I’ve been dealt. So it is. So it goes. I’m not complaining. Hell, I was ready to cash out ten years ago before I even dove headfirst into this writing kick. So this part of life is just my lounge act. I’m just hanging around for whatever spoils might come my way in the future. Would I like to help usher in the Renaissance Revolution of the Phoenix Generation? Of course. Would I like to meet a perfect woman and pass on the millions of years worth of ancestral DNA that I’m carrying within my loins? Sure. Am I going to get all bent out of shape about such things one way or the other? Nah. I’ve pretty much reached the point of cool detachment where I realize that a thing happens in life, then the next thing happens, then the next thing happens, etc. It all is what it is. Everything that has ever occurred throughout the entire history of creation has led to this exact moment right now. So why should I worry too much about it? At least I’m alive. At least I get to experience this furthest point of evolution. At the cusp. On the edge. Near abyss. Ready to dive and hit the rocks. Or jump and catch the next plateau. Whichever way the wind blows. I act flippant and nonchalant, but the truth is I have big goals. I want it all…and then some. But even that won’t satisfy me. The dragon can never be caught. My desires are unquenchable. My fire will never burn out. My love is a bloody ember upon the dying coals. My hatred is a black night that never sees another sun. My soul is an open wound that has no  desire to heal. My truth is a false impression. My ash is the dust. My dust is the clay. My mold is the new beginning. My transgressions are unholy. My sin is of the flesh. My transcendence has been put on permanent delay. My ascension got drowned in the flood’s undertow. I swallowed the sea. I drank every bottle. I poured the wine into my open veins. I kissed the black tar as it scraped against my best intentions. I fucked off with all the failures of my past. I embraced the coming storm. I opened wide. I drank deeply of the coming high tide. I got tired. I laid down. I set it all alight. I laughed in the face of the madness. I stoked the rebellion just to get a fresh vibe. I got tired of it all and finally collapsed. But not to my knees in prayer. More of a fetal position to bring about an encore to the last rite I remember before this oxygen came into my lungs and fucked everything to hell. Back to source one day…but for now I’ll keep playing the game.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Who would have ever guessed that social media pops open the third eye, rips the Kundalini asunder, sparks consciousness to a higher state of natural synchronicity, and provides the perfect flash point golden key of enlightenment…and here I thought it was the devil all these years…

It’s just life, after all…no need to take it too seriously…

A couple poems that were published recently that I just found out about today:

The Karmic Scales of Deliverance – Leaves of Ink

Gambling at the Highest Stakes – Straylight Literary Magazine

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar