Roll The Dice

if you’re going to try, go all the
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.

you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.

– Charles Bukowski



What is undone, appears empty like a valley, matures slowly, in its authenticity, creativity appears imitative to its opposite, that which to overcome by moving towards a dialectic sense of silence, activity, tranquility are covalent in there return to end of  beginning.

Line 5 The use of emptiness reimagining

Between heaven and earth are a great bellows, in its emptying its retains its power, moved by the creative, not disturbed it sends forth presence, to much directive exhausts the mover, leaden grudges seal the passageway, your inner being guard it, keep it well and free.

The earth away, artifacts of dissimilar purpose, everything included everything, the flint knives and mammoth teeth, Plato’s eidos, wind remembers mind, both move over immeasurable distance.

-Josh Fleming, some words may have been sutured with my own, don’t remember the source from when it was written, thanks be to those that may have helped.

Image by: Dan Reisinger


In Remembrance Of An Event

Know that you did not fail,  I will dig at the root of memories scattered round memories, I will find the ones I can feel but not recall, reflections of moments cherished, of the Cahaba’s river streaming through my train wrecked thoughts, trampling through the edge of some distant wood, in the remains I will unearth your bones, realign your step crossing over that field.

-Josh Fleming

The Edge Of Things


We mistake our downward-spiral for that of the world, the radiance of forgotten suns, leaden doubt, to sink with the heavy weight of seven spheres, or cast wonder back upon the ledge where we rest on the edge of things, raised to the octave higher, to the outer-most exteriority and back again.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Tatiana Gulenkina



An in-process exploration of writings about life