Jesus preached to love one’s enemies. I did that for awhile. It works alright, I guess, as far as bringing about a state of detached, centered, holier-than-thou type attitudinal alignment. It’s not some sort of get-into-heaven-free-card or anything. Not that I’d want one. Or need one. Or sell my soul for one. Now this is where I could start writing about how the Kingdom of God is found within, and that the sublime paradise of heaven is actually a state of consciousness that is brought about within the psyche through the attainment of proper perspective and mindfulness. Which is all true, no doubt. But not really pertinent to this post.

My main point here, to state it rather crudely, is that one should hate their enemies. Hate those that do wrong unto you. Hate those that plague this world with their disease. Hate those that hold back evolution. Not the type of hatred that is synonymous with anger and eats away from the inside out while doing more harm to you than it ever possibly could to the person you’re trying to direct it toward.  I’m talking about the purest form of hatred…to shun your enemy…to turn away from your enemy…to care so little about your enemy that the very idea of giving them any more attention is next to impossible. Shake off the dust from your cloak and walk away from that which is abominable and wretched. Cast away and leave behind that which is sure to perish in the coming flood.

But enough of all that, eh? This buzz is not nearly strong enough to carry that type of heavy shit any further tonight.

Published poems today:

13 – Your One Phone Call

Count to Ten – Leaves of Ink

Get Me Out of Here/Now – Dead Snakes

Musings on a Joke System – Dead Snakes

Proper Portions – Dead Snakes

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

To take life as it flows, with no expectations, only aspirations.

To see things as they truly are, beyond context, beyond perception, beyond desire, beyond wishful thinking, beyond hope, beyond faith, beyond pain, beyond suffering, beyond joy, beyond the fleeting temporal illusions.

To learn from the past, live in the present, and look toward the future.

I love my family, my friends, my tribe and my community with a violent passion…I hate my enemies with an equal fervor.

I came to this world with a rose for my lovers and a sword for the guts of the liars.

The truth comes in waves

The gods bleed in excess

The wine flows from heaven

The sex drains the flesh

The light ignites the soul

The shadow hangs from a cross

The prophet sleeps in the desert

The beggar rests under a tree

The apple is ripe with worms

The snake kisses with venom

The moon comes fast with night

The swarm is born from genes

The soup bubbles with evolution

The primal roar screams from a mountain

The silence is carried by the wind

The smoke signals the Word

The fire bathes the world

The flood follows the flame

The ash will rise again

Three poems published today:

Satiating Needs – Venus in Scorpio

Pied Piper – Social Justice Poetry

A Gnashing – The Screech Owl

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

I have absolutely nothing new to say right now. That’s how I know this post will wind up bringing the fire. Deliver the sermon. Rip the heart out of a life force. Suck the poison from a grave. Find the truth and leave it bleeding. Sing a song and let it rot. Catch the future and fuck its brains out. Send it back from whence it came. Turn the cycle, twist the circle, run the rhythm into the ground, dig a hole until the side splits, pierce the flesh, hang the cross, kiss the cheek, take the silver…

When I have absolutely nothing new to say it means I have to abandon the momentum of every event and action that has ever transpired throughout the history of all creation which led to this exact moment in time and space because it has obviously grown stale and lame…or else I’d have something new to say.

When I have nothing new to say it means I have to let the old gods die. Resurrect the future tense. Raise on high all the blasphemous, heretical, ideologically bizarre, counterfeit, culturally corrupted occult rituals and watch as the witches burn, the portals open, the angels enter, the demons flee, the flames ascend, and the shadow emerges only to be struck down by the light of a thousand rays of nothing new to say.

When I have nothing new to say I go to plan B, throw the fucker into reverse, spin out in the dirt, blow the tires, flip the lid off the whole shebang and watch it rain with acid love deliverance from the sky. Taste the atmosphere from the inside out and receive the truth like a force of entropy worming its way across the empty void of absolution into the fiery veins of evolution’s forward march.

When I have nothing new to say I like to play…fuck around with words…tease language…rip apart and shred…reassemble, reconnect, reconfigure, revitalize, reconstitute…then tear it into pieces again.

Like a muscle that must be broken down in order to grow back stronger, so too must the world enter into stages of chaos so that a higher state of order may emerge on the other side…

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

One foot in front of the other toward…something.

Laying a sturdy foundation that can be built upon.

Sowing seeds that will be reaped in a future season.

Mindfulness, patience, perseverance, participation, proper perspective, courage, confidence, and an indomitable will that is absolutely locked tight and zeroed-in on the idea of success.

When nothing else matters except the end goal.

When everything else becomes illusion.

Two poems published today:

No Free Passes – Poems and Poetry

The Old College Try – Visceral Uterus

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

The desert images are calling out with corrupted cascades of jihadi wonderland thrill ride massacres, cancerous oil rigs spewing like waterfall Hallelujah, and ruptured peace treaties tearing at the throat of common sense and moral decency…

Mirage – Published today at Dissident Voice…Thus spoke Numa on such a sacred Holy Day: “Yea, glory, glory be to all the parasites and predators of the poisonous political class, otherwise known as Presidential psychopaths.”

Summer, Winter, — – Published today at Eskimo Pie.

Righteous Regression – Published today at The Poet Community.

From the page to the fire

From the flame to the pen

From the ink to the blood

From the wine to the word

There is a reason why the world is currently in such a state. In fact, there are several billion.

There is a Big Solution to every little problem. But it is above my pay grade.

Two new poems out today:

House Rules – My weekly piece at Dissident Voice. Barking at the Kill Machine.

Pressurized Gravity – VGP Literate. Some sort of abstract thing with a lot of color.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Put on your bravest face. Break out that Cheshire grin. Like Voltaire wrote in Candide, everything works out for the best. No matter what. Always.

Or something like that, right?

What Comes Down Must Rise Again originally appeared in Dissident Voice last year. But since I didn’t have this blog at the time, I’m giving myself a free pass to post it right now. That’s called liberty, baby. Go and get you some. Sovereignty is calling. Answer with a fire.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

Two of my poems have been published today at Tuck Magazine. Rhythm and Fallen are both excerpts from the project I’ve been hammering away at like a man possessed over the past three months. I’ve written over 600 pages of poetry during that time, and 93 pieces have been published at various venues so far. I’ve put together five chapbooks out of the material, one of which has been accepted by Dink Press, and another of which is in the early stages of negotiation with a different publisher.

Rhythm was actually one of the first pieces I wrote back in November when I was initially inspired by a documentary on Charles Bukowski that I happened upon. From that moment, I spent the next month devouring everything on YouTube about the man I could find – interviews, live readings, documentaries. Jesus, I must have spent around 30 hours watching and rewatching his surly disposition in action. If I had to crystallize my response to his style and methodology, I’d say it all sums up to this – Brutal honesty down to the marrow of the bones. Say what you damn well mean. That’s what I’ve tried to work on primarily, but, hell, I still love to dance with abstractions now and again.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar

My poem Giving in to the Beast was published this morning at Record.

This piece is basically a reflection on social media and a reaction to my own decision recently to dive into the murky waters of the abyss after having avoided the scene like a plague for the past decade.

How many people have thought they could dance with the devil and come away unscathed? How many accomplished the feat? How many wound up sucking Satan’s cock? Well, I’ve always been pretty high on the idea of playing long odds…so on with the show…I’m the dark horse in this race but I’ve got a fifth ace up my sleeve…at least that’s what I keep telling myself in order to rationalize this course of action that’s been taken.

Selah,

Scott Thomas Outlar