Consciousness is Self Evident.
To Ask for Proof grants the Disproof
 by the Axiom of Requiring it. 

It's a journey that every Question 
Aborts the Answer
so a walk home resumes.

The industry, The Art 
is how to define Boundaries 
to hold Pleasure as 
an enduring form. 

So If You Like it,
  the process can come
    from non-form
      through form 
        to non-form
Or mid-stand 
where comfort
holds the sensitivity 
to ongoing Beauty. 

Vibrant Joy Sure by feeling 
upon natural ongrowing 

Boundaries that fall to 
      unrestrained pleasure.

Set Heart's desires
   as bounding focus
       drawn a party to

Gifts rising upon the moment,   
                 Evidently. 

a little jack daniels with the coffee
 
tracing the outline
of a tattoo on soft
black skin with
your tongue
 
a snowy morning
in the middle
of somewhere
 
a little jack daniels
with the coffee
 
the love of your life
sleeping in just her
panties in your
centuries old bed
 
you can't help but
feel this was never
supposed to be for
someone like you
 
the infinite joy
to have defeated
time
 
there is no substitute
for it
---------------------------------------------------------------------
let the fun begin
 
the joy of a dirty mind
is absolutely anything
could be a reminder
or the spark for the
imagination to rev
the engines and let
the fun begin
 
a rainy day
 
a car dealership
bathroom
 
a certain way the
floor sounds with
the right shoes
 
an echo from
across the street
 
the subtle way the
chap stick tastes
 
a certain song on
the radio
 
absolutely anything
 
and i won't be able
to walk for a few
minutes
----------------------------------------------------------------------
too fast for me
 
i'm at the age
now that life
either moves
too fast for me
or too fucking
slow
 
finding the right
groove is not
possible anymore
for me
 
maybe i'm the
cranky old man
or just another
child that has
grown old
 
not that it
matters
 
we are born
to die
 
few get to
experience
something
other than
that
 
or so i have
been told
--------------------------------------------------------------
a few moments to forever
 
i have never learned
how to cope with
good news
 
happiness is some
rare thought that i
haven't embraced
in years
 
and here comes a
lost soul that wants
me to give myself
to her for any
amount of time
 
a few moments
to forever
 
my soul is old
enough now to
stop fighting this
silly notion that
i'm strong enough
to go it alone
 
i am broken
enough though
 
that i still have
doubts that anyone
truly wants to devote
the time to fixing me
the way it needs to
be done
--------------------------------------------------------------------
something is always in the way
 
and you want
to love her
 
but neither of
you can find
the fucking
time
 
and the days
become years
 
and eventually
something is
always in the
way
 
before you
know it
 
what could have
been is all that
is left
 
a fleeting moment
of sweet kisses
 
and enough desire
to keep you warm
on a winter's night

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is currently trapped in suburbia, wondering where the lonely housewives are hiding. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Mad Swirl, Horror Sleaze Trash, Misfit Magazine, Terror House Magazine and The Beatnik Cowboy. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

tomorrow landry

who’s knocking?

	scientific
        lac amora

the dream of the sky
the dream of the swan

       clanky toast is “t”
       ample terrapin outline

I’m in the gum tree




pac-man germs

the cape fear method
demanding a desert

        I am in the rain

green sleep
a new green

the space station is blinking
I am in the control tower

        with radishes

the toads protect me here
the templeton of the rabbit

        confused



the wonderful tree

each eagle is too low
raindrops slice

the coral within
whittling, too

my solar gum
my plen-t-pak

I bite a cotton ball
I shake a sugar roll




bio/graf

J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. His poetry has appeared in many small press publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Cinderella City (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). His poem, “to mask a little bird” was nominated for Best of the Net in 2021. Visit http://MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Colorado.

A DOG IS BETTER THAN A HUSBAND

1.
“A dog is better than a husband,” the rescue lady says to me. “Did you know that?” 

2.
What? Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute. Where did that come from? Where? This isn’t some kind of weird therapy session. This is PetSmart, for God’s sake! And it’s Saturday. Adoption Day. I’ve driven from Fort Worth to Dallas to look at a little homeless Chihuahua. The one featured on Facebook last week. The one this woman tells me is no longer available. Bummer! I really wanted to see it. But that’s okay. I’m just a looker today. Just here to look. That’s all. Not to adopt. No. Just looking. Today. A looker. That’s me. Nothing more. 

3.
And yet, and yet. That didn’t stop this dog rescue lady from lifting another Chihuahua from his crate and handing him to me. Before I could protest. Before I could stop her. How could she do that to me? She knows I’m just a looker. She does. She knows. It’s true. I’m just looking. I am. A looker. That’s me. Today. Nothing more. And yet, and yet. Now there’s a dog in my arms. A dog! And not just any dog. This dog. The dog she tells me nobody wants because he’s not a puppy. Because he’s eight-years-old. Walter. That’s his name. Yes, it’s sad. So sad. To be unwanted. Abandoned. Yes. I know. How it feels. I do. So sad. But he’s the wrong dog for me. He is. All wrong. He’s brown and black (not the color I want). And six pounds (not the weight I want). And a boy (not the sex I want). No, he’s not my dog. Not this one. No. Not at all.    

4.
“Excuse me?” I say. Maybe I misunderstood what she said. About dogs and husbands. Surely. Surely I did. The rescue lady looks down at Walter and laughs. He’s snoring. In my arms. Fast asleep. What? When did that happen? “It’s true,” she says. “Dogs are more consistent with their affection. They’re not moody. Or manipulative. Or perfectionists. Or worriers. Or egomaniacs. Or judgmental. Dogs will never abandon you. They just love you. All the time. That’s what they do. And they’re excellent listeners.” She winks at me. “How many men can you say that about?” 

5.
Oh, geez. Sounds like the story of my life. How did she know? Moody, self-absorbed men. Too many of them. In my past. Nothing but trouble. Like my ex-husband, Earl. The hypochondriac. I divorced him six months ago. Best decision I’ve made in years. Good riddance, I say. Never had anxiety until I married Earl. Or panic attacks. Didn’t even know what they were. But I do now. Thanks to seven years of marriage. Should have divorced Earl years ago. Why didn’t I? Why, why, why? My girlfriends say it’s my heart. It’s too big. Too soft. They think it’s a curse. In Earl’s case, it was. But no more. I’m done with men like that. All of them. Selfish, manipulative, worriers. Done. With. Them. 

6.
“Did you see this?” the rescue lady says, pointing to the information sheet attached to Walter’s crate. “All our older dogs like Walter are half price today. And he’s such a good dog. No trouble at all.”

7.
An hour later the Dallas skyline fades from my rearview mirror on the drive back to Fort Worth. I did it. Finally. I escaped. From PetSmart. And the rescue lady. Hallelujah! But my checking account is three hundred dollars lighter. And there’s a big shopping bag from PetSmart in my backseat. And a new pet carrier in the trunk. And there’s Walter. In the passenger seat. Wrapped in a blanket. Cozy in his new dog bed. Chewing on a bully stick. Happily. Peacefully. As if we’ve been together for years. 

8.
“Tell me this,” I say to Walter. “Is a dog really better than a husband?” I turn off the highway onto the exit ramp leading to Fort Worth. Walter drops his bully stick and climbs into my lap. Gently. Calmly. Like he’s been doing it for years. He rests his head on my arm and looks up at me. “Should I take that as a Yes?” I say. “Okay then. Good to know.”  

Pearls in heaven

I see several micro flashlights blinking into deep space and it seems lots of smoothing sands sparkling on waves of frequencies, mysterious rounded sounds, surveillance eyes granted human hyper sight over postponed realities in many layers, caves, boost grooves, upper rings around planets with their own moons, walkers space, ravish cannon of lights, swimmers on whirlpool galaxy. A full high brain resolution of ourselves drifted away on a big translucid mirror pointed to the past sending images to right now by a minimalistic painter over the sea of darkness, and I wonder: is the universe outside an unlimited dream where I have always slept; my unconscious existence? 
But, I have found music, the divine language. This ocean of coincidences converges in a single singularity where immaterial energy emerges in chains of luminosities, spiral shades pointed everywhere, in the compass of unheard voices; there are glimmered rocks in a chord field that are crossing through spectral layers, flaming spaces. At end of billions of worlds, it will be revealed one more unknown path that is moving to its core, another drawing, a piece of a child’s imagination. The stars could collide into rivers which flow to be blossoms, our inner streaming, parallel beats, curling grooves; maybe a new blackhole swallowing matter and creating outer lands for living with carbon, oxygen-hydrogen, any system breathe based, new sounds and drums;  another nano-telescope moved by gravity, seeking for meaning, destiny machine stimulation engraved into a simulated human journey. What is hidden in a covered nebulosity? Words must feed worlds, Which strongest beauty silence before everything. We named this frontier skyline, cause the sunset has a moment of shyness where the sun brights at the edge of Earth. In this milk way lay down the Supreme Graced Womb's mother of inked souls traveling in the surreal night dream where a dark blue veil covers the nature of everything. I see this curved space ahead of me fulfilled with plenty of tears in rain. Each step in throw the darkness bends our cosmovision like a spectacular blade runner who embraces us in an illogical transition where many seeds of life are graved over otter space fields.
Hold your impulsiveness of changing everything, ruling the world is an old human wish for power. 

Magnetism acts as a paradoxical creation that suddenly takes place. This invisible force used to be an untamed movement to sustain the wheel of life,  and  I only could say that I could resist until the last tear. Please, wait a little bit more, the pairs are gaining time to win this frozen battle fight. When they are prepared to launch the ultimate combat a huge purple wind will blow to the Kings of liberty. 

Vangelis (Acrostic) 

V-angel-is you in verse (Vangelis universe) 
Ethereal voices on the sea, now you run to be, cause your soul belongs to immaterial being, in a solstice place there are V-angel-is' singing, 
Your enchanted life is everywhere, we can hear the stars are pleasured with this marvelous presence.


Spiral rotations of the universe keep in touch (for Albedo 0.39) 

Inner strength calling 920,978; September raining day 785,321; soft dancing
of light 508,765; ultimate belief upon the seventh sky 042,759. Liquid spaces orbiting around everywhere 917,532; spiral connections and solid voices surrounding the sun: 101 2 three, who's the man; Mature consciousness presented by our time, it runs: Could anyone listening and answer it 730,283; Unknown code of love and mystery cre@tion of the universe:  Please find us!!!


For the la petite fille de la mer 

Rain, all these dispersed drops, form your transverse mantle that doesn't fit in my chest. Today, it is so sad to say that my thirst is absent from its brief rain. To the little daughter of the sea. (Vangelis) .