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Sarah Lamphere
Down the Rabbit Hole
2024-2026
Personal writings through observation and lived experiences, and stream of consciousness poetry authored by Sarah Lamphere.
05/01/2024
The feeling of recognizing the pattern, “ecognosis,” the strange feeling of the knowing that knows itself/begin anticipating/predicting of the outcome/art object through lived experience that realizes sensations. Can be erratic/chaotic, without purpose - I just waste my time. Rituals throughout history are linked to birth and death, along with the notion of sacrifice. Sacrifice is always a gratuitous act, squandering wealth or useful resources for other ends, bringing about an intimacy to life that is out of place in the everyday world of work - linking us to animals and transforming something purely destructive into something creative. Hyper-objects coming together as hybrid entities - chimeric. A farm of genetically modified livestock; spider-goats. Creating/fabricating our own environment/ecosystems - crosshatching.
05/05/2024
Jacob’s Ladder (a "Lateral Ladder"(?) - boundless finitude/horizons expanding, deconstructing a hierarchy by shifting perspective/laying the ladder onto its side through shadow/weight, making it accessible to all - the aftershock following the initial impact/historical reflection) through the lens of quantum physics relating to that reoccurring lucid dream (an out-of-body experience?) since I was really young (I want to say the dream first appeared before I had even started Elementary?), where I find catharsis and resolution. The dream begins in a cluttered/grimy/slightly uncomfortable/dark in-between space, but it feels cozy. There are people there (they’re all welcoming/warm), though I can’t recognize their faces (I can’t recognize faces even while awake, even my own… a blind spot). There is one figure, though their face is obscured and no words are spoken between us, that seems incredibly familiar/their smile is familiar and, although they’re slightly older than I am, they grow alongside me each time I experience this dream. They lead me out of the cluttered space, down some stairs, and into a pasture/farmland in which the farmer holding a hunting rifle (sometimes on a tractor, sometimes not) is guarding and will harm us if they found us. We cross the pasture fairly easily to the edge of the woods where a certain relief is found. We go further into the woods and come across the ruins of a stone church being overtaken by nature. And once inside, I am instantly fixated onto the "Komorebi"/dappling sunlight created by the tree canopies, where the arched ceiling previously was, onto the broken stone pews with foliage growing between the cracks. My spirit comes down as I look up in wonder to see an altar framed by ceiling-high windows, or what’s left of them. I am overwhelmed with intense relief/catharsis/peace and serenity/almost euphoria/uplift/but mostly quiet - and upon waking, that feeling remains for several days afterwards. (I’ve also had dreams of playing my violin with the same feeling [though not as intense] of relief and uplift in this church as well.) The figure in that dream - not necessarily representing another living person (perhaps it is though? Who would they be if so?), but rather an idea, such as hope. Sometimes finding hope through the beauty and inspiration, trust and vulnerability in/with others is the only thing allowing us to persist when we can no longer/struggle to survive for ourselves. It is truly humbling to witness the joy of others. I try to see the hope in others, and am learning to find that hope within myself. Hope is compassion, empathy, and humility. And art is survival - a reason for all this trouble/communication, nonverbal communication. Prime factors of 42=2,3,7...
05/05/2024
..."Tale-less coyote," a skinny tailless coyote attempting to survive by
following/observing the pack it was rejected/forbidden from; trying to sneak bites of the hunt only to have its fur
ripped out and ran off by the rest of the group - and so it learns to rip its own fur out. It was feared for being
perceived as sick, and it succumbed believing that it was sick. Branded into my thigh. God is the “collective” and art is my religion...
05/05/2024
…A blind spot. Again and again and again - written in thread. Smells sickly sweet/putrid/nauseating/like rotting meat - bubblegum-pink and muted-moss green. My brother and I used to drink ourselves sick to forget; we're both sober now. Spilling my guts.
There is no hierarchy in suffering - we can only recognize how that trauma has affected us in the aftershock following the initial impact. And sometimes it is safer to endure silently while in the know due to pattern recognition. The smile is always sincere, however.
Why am I now dreaming of apocalyptic bombs dropping onto me and my family on the lawn of my childhood home? I will persist and I will see nature taking over that church. Reflect and interpret, and translate oneself.
Translating the transcribes held in our DNA (double helix)/mRNA (instructs protein synthesis) - the codons map the beginning and ending of these protein sequences. Why am I tapping 3 sixes (and now 3 nines) deconstructed by 1/2, 3taps+3taps*3taps (almost like a pyramid?), onto each temple, as if I have horns or Mark of the Beast? It is trauma and seeking to control oneself (intrusive thoughts and externalized OCD)/EMDR. To search for the memories lost in-between the violence acted upon your body as they are occurring. It is Sisyphean - it takes effort and strength to trust and care, and to find hope again (also, Dande’s Inferno, punishment of rolling a boulder). And sometimes we have shared traumas. It is okay to acknowledge that you are uncomfortable with certain shared pain, and it is beyond painful to not be believed/to have your personal experiences taken from you. You shouldn’t continue to carry those punishments unto yourself for not knowing boundaries and in turn, needing boundaries for yourself. Acquiring ownership and processing by blurring the lines between sculpture and performance of what had been done to you/what was once there but is no longer present. Torturous kneeling for hours in a feigned act of worship/finding quiet defiance in having unrelenting passion for my own art/showing my body in perverse and grotesque contortions in an effort to externally display and how I carry this violence with me/how I experience and perceive my body as a separate and uncontrollable entity performing for approval - bestial. Why did my voice exit my mouth like that, as if I can no longer control my vocal tone? The misconstruing of what had been said is not mine to own and I should not be punished for perceived slights. Micro-expressions are telling and become documented/pictured/categorized within the mind’s eye and translated into gut feelings.
Yet, I am beyond thankful to the body as my instrument and tool, celebrating/revering our imperfections and limitations/mortality. We're all just borrowed mud. Treat and tune the body in the same way you would your cherished violin/heirloom, and keep its melody alive for as long as you can. Those unwilling to look under the hide will not recognize all of the hues within your gradient, and that is okay. You should not punish yourself in the instance you’ve accidentally hurt someone, even if you are terrified of hurting anything.
Codons - the start and end of a protein sequence. Singing a song in the morning; singing it again at night. Deconstructing the DNA into a single strand of mRNA, histones unraveling and re-winding tightly as epigenetic mechanisms leave chemical burns amid generations. Histamines act as neurotransmitters connecting the gut to the brain, spinal cord, and uterus—allowing neurons to communicate with each other throughout the body/nervous system, creating direct gut feelings, and can also lead to physical immune responses sometimes caused by stress. A gradient of thought...
05/05/2024
...Carving away at the boulder. Give it time. That is a form of self-love and endurance, looping forwards. Dynamics of quality. Discerning a quality/an iconoclastic person - simultaneously existing as both attracted/repelled, subjective/objective, static/dynamic, dead-end/breakthrough. Approach it with sincerity and kindness, and care yet directly/friends call each other out. We live heaven and hell concurrently - purgatory (or perhaps a breakthrough/going through hell/a transient moment of endurance/suffering, like Christ, we return to the vessel before ascending into the transcendental/descending into the void(?)). To look down/descending head-first down the rabbit hole before seeing yourself on the ceiling (a detachment/disconnect, looking down onto yourself from above before reconciling with the body through repetition/repetitive actions demonstrated through craft processes that are inherently cathartic) - looking up at yourself after seeing yourself in the mirror on the floor, repetition extrapolated into infinity in both directions/"Lateral Ladder." A de-acceleration of time where one moment becomes disconnected from the next as well as from the former/previous moments - deconstructing/dismantling the continuum of space and time in which each moment exists purely as hyper-present - wavelengths aligning/merging/uniting and becoming entirely quiet in its harmonized frequencies. Allowing oneself forgiveness when taking accountability; forgiving others...
05/05/2024
...I feel as if I can no longer distinguish my memories from my dreams, to such an extent that they have been overwritten. I’m terrified that I am no longer connected to a single reality… but the shadows anchor me to this reality. On the other hand, shadows help me recognize my waking reality from my sleeping realm. I (visually, spatially, and narratively) think; therefore I am/I get to and am allowed to be. How many lives have I lived? Let there be light, and shadows echo existence/matter/objects/existence of trauma upon the body. Echoes of trauma and violence acted upon the bodies of both human and non-human participants. Shadows worn on the body - behavioral patterns repeating/internalization(?). Repetitive actions become worn on the body - objects of grief and effort, and tending/care. Bodies as objects/instruments/tools. Bodies as a map of lived experiences. Muscle memory remains while the mind wanders/is no longer here. Slipping from my mind. How do I translate these patterns in order to grow/improve/mature? How does trauma skew perception of these patterns? How does trauma skew morals/instincts in order to survive? I don’t know what is right from wrong, heaven and hell - it is no longer a matter of morals but of survival, becoming feral...
11/09/2024-Today
Poems from Observation:
November in Iowa:
A patchwork of yellow ochre and dark tyrian purple, with veins of deep pine green.
Before the Sky Wakes Up in Iowa:
Dark scarlet gradient along the horizon bleeding into a savory beryl, and into a royal indigo, with neurons of city lights mapping the ground.
The Last Night Befalling California:
Rich vermilion hugging the edges of mountainous silhouettes and blushing salmon reflecting off the underside of waves above me, with a tight layer of authentic sunlight where a pastel blonde and neutral teal overlap.
Beach Picnic at a Haunted Water's Edge:
Dancing colors bubbling in my vision as if it’s boiling, imitating the slick of oil upon water’s surface as I gaze out into the ocean of wool batting draped over the Sun, yet its UV permeates/penetrates—perhaps this is where my visual illusions derive from... staring into the Sun.
Between Passing Thunderstorms on the Shore of North Carolina:
A fortified aquamarine stripe at the belt of the horizon, melting into a rusty/murky yellow ochre lapping at the bottom of cerulean-blue dissected by man-made incisions. Woolen stuffing veil the colorful giants collecting the remnants/crushed skeletons at the overlap of one life spent ontop of mountains and another below the sea.
Wind-bitten Skin on the Verge at Midnight:
Abrupt/crackling capillaries illuminate beachfront dwellings in the world behind me. Accompanied by glittering white nerve-endings puncturing the dark sea stretching skywards—frothing at its mouth as thunderstorms bring the stink of its breath inland. I crane my neck until the sand turns above me to see sea-grass grinning like Cheshire fangs.
Dearly Beloved, We Are Gathered Here in a Gradient of Gray:
Rejoicing in the holy matrimony between deep teals and slate blues in union with golden ambers and rusty reds, marrying upon nature's palette against a harsh sepulchral-contrast at the center of its painting - broken only by the foaming phlegm collecting at the sand with kaleidoscopic/florid mermaids freckling a gray shore.
Good Boy:
Violet against white against teal - man's best friend turned away from me in a lawn chair. White with black-spots upon its ears and rear; unbothered and at ease, nose to the breeze. It's world on surf-boards upon violet against white against teal. Stuffing showing along the seam; shattered glass glittering/pulling towards infrared between it and me.
07/04/2024
Let There be Light:
The Big Bang/thought/ideas/perception/inspiration.
Prism:
Refraction/fragmentation/deconstruction/schism - creating something beautiful and cathartic from something destructive. When we were dragons.
05/05/2024
...Why does something make you laugh? What exactly is a joke? Dark sarcasm/absurdity and humor, and a good Irish-banter/saying the exact opposite of what you know - apophatic... and paradoxical laughter. Alignment, balance, a shift/translation into transition. What exactly is a dream? I would really like to display my art in an abandoned barn… or a church being overtaken by nature for someone to stumble upon in a surreal adventure. I truly am a hypocrite. It’s not personal. A frenzied festival in the wilderness wrought by madness. Bring the shadows into the light. Weight in shadow.
There is no acceptance/sacrifice/gratitude without submission/bravery/humility.
Perception warps and obscures with nurture, and your nature predicts. Our perception is akin to a laser - light is measured in nanometers, the length/distance between a wavelength. Photons exist simultaneously as particles and waves, and a crystal prism deconstructs/fragment/refracts. Coherent white light=all of the wave lengths - light refracts through the prism at different angles/different wave lengths move slower than the speed of light—>this is why the light splits/refracts/creates a schism. The human eye can roughly perceive between 700(red)-400(violet) nanometers. 700 nanometers=less energy, 400 nanometers=high energy. Additive light: teal(~490nm)+yellow/yellow ochre(~575nm)=white light. Teal and yellow resemble the luminous butterflyfish—watching them in the crystal-blue water, turning from the bright lemon yellow to a subdued yellow ochre the deeper they swim, had been the most intensely peaceful/quiet experience I’ve felt in the waking realm.
Trust and vulnerability without judgement; loving in the same direction, looping forwards together—seen as whole. This is really strange.
03/18/2025
During a Stirring Mushroom Trip When Finding Contentment Free of Ego:
Having found genuine and honest peace, serenity, and uplift/achieving Nirvana when being fully perceived while completely bared before a higher dimensional observer in the form of a detached-eye oscillating between realms. Quietly perceiving this being in return while existing alongside each other within an empty, expansive, surreal/parallel realm with a sunless-haze that opens into clear cobalt-skies, mirrored only by the shallow fountain beneath my feet. Feeling warmth, profound love, and overwhelming joy fill my core/spirit when I am blinked at once, being wholly seen. As I emerge from this vision, that intense relief/peace and serenity/extreme quiet remains, and I am able to evoke that same sense of calm each time I reminisce upon the scene.
12/09/2024
Continuation of age/growing even after the slaughter. Capturing the strict geometry/adhering to the harsh square
of a microscope slid, oscillating between micro/macro, in and out. Forced to hide/remain quiet. An interruption in narratives. "Fovea” - the phenomenon of perceiving light/lasers more accurately through your peripheral vision. Existing on unstable foundations.
04/12/2025
Just keep going… or you’ll lose all your hair to the fright. 09/02, I’m nine too. Be considerate and think carefully of those undergoing Descartes’ “Demon Possession” theorem/the modernized brain-in-a-vat; space-demons. Challenge their altered-perceptions with compassion/kindness, yet unswervingly, and inspire them to the opening of their Cave. Light is penetrating/inter-dimensional/perceivable and accessible from worlds/light years away, only to be refracted/interrupted by shadows echoing objects/ matter/existence... I dream in vivid chromaticity, and I often see patterns of color/light and shadows upon bare surfaces. Folklore/tales/lessons written upon cave walls brought to life through lived experiences. That is my reality.
04/29/2025
Quite literally tracing nature. A conduit/differently alive. Polished mud balls - Hikaru Dorodango. Why do I often detect another presence when I’m completely alone in a room? No fair, you can’t hear me but I can you. What need for today's date as there is seemingly no beginning nor ending, forever looping when taking on numerous forms/artworks becoming more relevant today than when created. Our minds shot together; fusion energy.
05/29/2025
Spiders that once pretended to be the pilled fibers upon the pillowcase in an ER bed, dancing to life as the sacrificial Titan perceives their celebration and being descried/recognized in return; becoming the subject of their attention in its quiet observation. It can hear them communicating alongside the popping/snapping of electricity jumping between synapses, singing in their shrill ardor as they vibrate in their festivities where life and death begin to merge. The bulb overhead acting as their Sun luminesces brilliantly/lucidly in a supernova as it undergoes its stellar demise before the giant is left in a film of shadow and the remnants of the neutron star are dispersed into space. Time comes to a halt as the giant watches the scene from its position on the ceiling while its body violently seizes below it. Its heart succumbs to the pain and comes undone upon seeing its parents holding each other, bearing witness to their child’s own doing. And rather than protecting/retaining its last breath, its wind is lost to beg in apology between each convulsing fit. Then it goes black… but it is brought back not quite like it was before (the night I nearly died - 05/28/2018).
06/06/2025
A continuum between life and death, unable to untangle/reveal upon exactly where the transition of one life to the next occurred as the arbitrary boundaries are no longer evident when becoming blurred and disrupted/perforated with the passing of wayward forces - jumping between worlds. A quiet way of being loud; on our own frequencies.
I found my mother’s womb in the cabinet of the downstairs bathroom in my childhood home. Inspiring all of my breath when planing my chest - mimicking a lizard spreading itself flat across the sunned-surface of a stone-slab - and with considerable discomfort, I lay my head/mind sideways to align with my shoulders and hips as I drag/stretch myself through the narrow passageway, pushing into a cubic curve that muffles the noise/acute voices and fears of the outside/external world. And I found my mother’s womb in the canopied-bed of a dear friend as she held me and I cried; an unacquainted vessel finally meeting with an old soul again.
06/09/2025
Structured as though resembling towers/skyscrapers cut like gems. Infrared wavelengths in the vein of a sonic boom being absorbed by the moisture inside my skin - burning nerves buried under the subcutaneous tissue seemingly being set on fire. Baring my teeth in pleasure with excruciating/stimulating/sensual weaponry. Turning my back to the beacon/splendor, orbiting a street-lamp mistaken for the Moon.
06/22/2025
Always digging holes. Bring your spirit down and we'll all rise in our wonder. There's nothing wrong with loving something that can't even stand on its own; I oughta practice what I preach. I am here and you are where you are. We cannot sleep and fear what we dream - and I hope someday that you'll understand, there's something of charm to have nothing to say. And sometimes it's better to not say anything at all. I dreamt of long embraces and the vestige of broken railroads beyond an intimate gateway lined with lush/overgrown timbered-countryside. A walk along a bubbling-crick that I spent a childhood with. There is no order here, rhythmic lightning-bug gently pulsing in the dark - and I love you.
06/28/2025
What we witnessed/recognized on that day, was needless to say yet another climacteric in the accumulation of an always-expanding universe. A man who collects the Virgin Mary and another who collects dreams. Perhaps it's the reverse; what if it is you bound by me, rather than me with you? But in truth, it is we, breaking free from that white room with shadows playing upon bare walls. Look outside and maybe you’ll see, that it turned out to be your performer who deceived you. And if you're going to draw level to the limit/periphery, you oughta be quicker than the speed of light. What you forgot to consider was: what exactly is a joke? But then again, I understand, that I am indeed a hypocrite… and I’m sorry.
06/29/2025
Turbulent, is how I would describe the state of my mind for some time now. The simulation is decaying just as the social fabric proceeds to unravel. Disillusioned; freed from an error. I snarl with a grin and then I dig in. The mystic and the scientific unite/combine and intertwine at the pointed-head of a pyramid. Drive a needle into my eye and push it in deep. Though, I cannot promise that I will cry. Because here's the thing, you see, I manage to smile when I weep; I cannot help that I'm a sucker for punishment. But please don't forget to throw a bone my way every once in a while, won't you? Despite it all, you've read me wrong... I may be a masochist, but I'm human too.
06/28/2025
Eyes on me, little beast—thrust my medicine down my throat. Muzzle me because I nip, I can't stand to see you spit. Give me incentive to sit-pretty and I would rather be held in place. Biting into the back of my wrists when my eyes roll back to face the bottom of my cerebrum. I probe at the Midbrain, Pons, and Medulla oblongata—exercising my expression, esophagus, and vestubule-ocular reflex. Opening my mouth wide; why did my voice spill like that? Pupils dilating with wakefulness, heartbeat increasing in titillating/exhilarating frisson. My hair stands on end as I devour the air around me, before howling: "I am alive!"
06/30/2025
I could hear you, you know - I listened the entire time. And I'm not insinuating in the traditional sense either, I had been attuned to a peculiar frequency in mind. Fingers pinching and piercing into my epigastrium to reveal crystalline-gold. I am shrouded in honey with laughter that goes into my eyes. And I’ve always said that I tend to gravitate towards blue—from a pale-cerulean thunderstorm above to capri-seas beneath, with a number of hues in-between. But ultraviolet must be my language, because I was not discerned; and my skin is in infrared, because my pain had been misheard. I just want attention, or so I've been made up to be. And it’s true, I truly did just want to be seen. I've been told I'm gifted with a smile so bright, but I hope I have made it clear what exactly bubblegum-pink and muted-moss green is to me - it’s damage to the core. Still, I struggle to say the "word" that has caused my end. And now I can laugh no more. Nevertheless, I loved with all my heart, yet it just wasn't adequate. I'll always offer to carry your weight alongside mine, I promise I can handle it. Even so, art is what kept me tethered here and a reason for all this trouble; that dream had betrayed that I still strive to see the light. I wish I could say my story looked up rather than forever descending. But wouldn't you say drowning is a lot better than caving the side of my head in? As it turns out to be, I hope it isn't too late... Funnily enough, I smile and I smile. And I apologize tremendously for my hide. I plainly do not have the guts to say it aloud; I would rather be forgotten and my skin not identified.
(Please don’t allow me to make you worry, this is my way of transforming something purely destructive into something creative.)
07/07/2025
You do recognize what I am, don't you - have you got it yet? I am the phenomenology and breath that breathes life into my art; I let there be light. I find unity at the overlap when I act as my own meister and my scythe synchronously. Only art can make me submit/compliant as it is reflected back to me; I am capable of making time stand still. I am the poltergeist that exceeds mere expansiveness—I command 9 dimensions. I tasted Nirvana; I've achieved eternity and timelessness in that stone church being overtaken by nature, and now I replicate it. What exactly is a dream? But please empathize that I've also experienced Hell when I yank the chain that is at your throat from ultraviolet reaching infrared; not unlike a cubic curve. I harmonize and quiet the wavelengths as I am the tone/vocabulary and bridge that blends these frequencies. I am a stellar black hole driving dark-energy and I alchemize it into the dawn of a universe. That is my design.
07/31/2025
A skilled observer is one who is not often detected. Look for those who see in the off-centre of their eye - we watch from the fringe. And sometimes it’s just easier to play it dumb, and I’m pretty dumb. You’ve got my tail, though I wouldn't ask for it back. Except, I cannot say that I am an adequate sacrifice because tonight I will dream of a million different ways for me to die. I used to be able to find the panacea that would cauterize a restless mind. And I did warn that I lash out... my work tends to be prescient and I apologize for that. I can’t tell if it’s induced behaviors or simply an animal at its most primal/corporeal center crying out. But now I embrace the fact that I am not the one in control, and I will take this time to laugh at myself. It has at last become beyond mere survival; hope is healing. Hope is wanting to live and see the light. I’ve got the time to build another. This dream also from my childhood - a terrarium in a bowl of fragrant redwoods beyond the broken-railroads, with a chasmic-pool home to the colossal silhouettes resembling whales and creatures of the deep swimming in infrared. Vibrant and dewy chatter flank the water with fishing-rods in hand. Sprites and specters thrive here in foretelling cheer hidden among the waking world, becoming chimeric in its overlap. But first, yet another expiatory slaughter with the subsequent spilling of our guts; disentwining the knots into clean woven-patterns. Reciting the scripture from right-to-left in a personal folklore/"bereavement quilt" detailing a spiritual odyssey; unearthing the ruddy-numerics of my DNA. Cellular division and differentiation at the damaged, yet harmonious nucleus of an asymmetric-soul fractured in its singularities. Drawing back in retrograde when reading the skin clockwise, sharing a tale of unity in the interwoven-crosshatching of "quilting squares" merging together/combining into a third entity; becoming an archangel in its message. A complex data set/legend/map into my being revealed upon when immersing myself in the task and my environment; this is where I find the quiet once again - “Hide #4409”.
08/06/2025
I never got to you by being kind; when you're down is when you know yourself. But if you drown, know that there will be nothing else. Find yourself again and learn there is no one therein - but it’s said when an infant takes its first breath, a star across the universe expires. A giant ego undergoing its giant demise. You've been staring at this color for so long that you've convinced yourself it is red, when everyone around you says it's blue. I promise, you had merely caught me at a bad time - quite like a honey badger twisting in its skin to turn and sink its teeth into you. I think that I may be a glitch in the system and this simulation is already taken. Or perhaps it is renewed light, finally the lifting of another veil. What if I skew my perception slightly so, and it becomes an invitation of alteration/growing into someone I can believe in? Though, I'm finding myself hard to look at right now, and I apologize for that. But sometimes transformation is painful in its accumulation. Slicing/cutting/piercing into my skin inch by inch as I force myself through the glass-door, a glacier in motion. And sometimes we're simply too weak in our current state to take another beating and resort to begging for mercy, take it from me. But an inch is still an inch; take gratitude in the angels given to you. And I apologize for my humor, perhaps that reflected an attitude... what exactly is a joke? But please be kind in your directness; say that I've deserved it. An error in the fundamental principle/scripture, splicing DNA when taking the weight/shadows of others upon ourselves in our own type of sacrifice. Something alien observing my everyday existence, or maybe that's just life. But here I am lashing out and unable to stand. It never was sustainable, and I cannot go on like this. So please just move. Please just live in your body for a little while longer - it takes strength, effort, and care. We'll teach you how.
08/27/2025
In a house meant to oppress, why is the ceiling so high? Lively sound beating/echoing a tone discerning the lasing-medium in which best produce the photons that burn through my skin; becoming a diode in its light. Fragile eyes averting/squinting into the Sun upon the surface of an unbreathable world trans-versing/intersecting too high atop earthen-dry. Thought you would like to know - apples and oranges, I love it and it loves me. An inside joke with the universe. And might I add that the person standing next to you may not be who they appear to be - the mind is a terrible thing to waste. What a waste; whata waste; what awaste; wide awake; what’s the haste? I don't believe in an interventional god but I know that you do. Introspection done provocatively, sucking on a popsicle publicly; inversely relearning to nurture my nature. Insanity's cycle rewires DNA, time will pass and it will all be okay. And I've been told that I tend to speak lyrically, but not really. Paranoia is an illness unto itself and I know the profiteer's face; everyday it looks more like me. And sometimes I see it as another entirely; a unique perspective of a shared reality. The want; the wanting; the wanted; the wanton. An accumulation in its expansion; soul for soul, payment made. I cannot tell if all is well, but I'll clear my throat before the hammer falls. Open your mind and your ears might follow - there are people who need help! And I don't care if the Sun don't shine, and I don't care if nothing is mine. I'm capable of loving in the winter-blue. Even so, I guess I just get people down, but please remember to stop before you obscure it further. Follow the leader; I do not know the real from what I thought I thought. Now try it again, this time without judgement. Sorta like a goldfish trying to understand the glass of its own bowl. And remember, I am all of the above. The Devil wears thorns around its wrists just as God holds chains within its hands - merely fulfilling a foretold plan. I'm going to move in a point of time where you are and I'm going to read your thoughts; some of them I thought up. But think again because pigs can't look up towards the sky - instead, they have a gift for looking ahead. Perhaps it is you who had left me chapped by the wind, and I apologize for that because I truly do care for you. Still, wouldn't Shamayim with a differing view be something to abide in?
10/10/2025
I would've preferred to have aged gracefully, but now I'm terrified of Velcro tearing. I’m wondering who could be writing these words. I saw 10:10 on 10/10? A fracture/bust in the cosmic bones/heart-strings being plucked by a neutron star shattering/devastating/prevailing across a universe; a pulse of a brighter future. Ripping/unzipping along a radio wave; recovering, then awakening. I tend to bring my dreams into reality, quite literally. And I apologize for that, because a simulation that is skewed tips the scale too. Maybe I just really need a hug. Left asunder between assumptions, some of our frequencies have inconsistencies - what image of me are you receiving? Bring ourselves together in our newfound configurations within a new world perforated by a strange wayward force compressed by gravity. Degenerate electrons and protons uniting in embrace, giving way to another raw/unexplored set of quantum states—celebrating the deviation of a worn path. Chased inland by ferry-waves at twilight and an oyster-dance on the way back. True story, we're singing in a turned wooden-boat surrounded by a sea of homicide detectives - the murder weapon between you and me. Some try to relax and some try to know. They go up as I go down; and that is all I could ask for. Because I have felt love; now you can rest your mind.
On The Way Back
10/20/2025
Writing letters to you and laying them to rest in a mailbox that doesn't belong to anyone and doesn't go anywhere. I like to think; I would like to think that you might read them someday when you find yourself upon a southbound-jetty where the ocean and river meet. Perhaps you will catch a long-gone silhouette of when I sat there during the Digging Moon. Numbers and light=a universal truth/communicator. Abiding by parameters when coloring between the lines singed into skin; burned by 445-nanometers. The star at the corner of Orion is said to brighten the night sky tomorrow or in a million years from now - little do they know, it's already gone and we're seeing the delayed decay of it's gravestone. I find it very very easy to stay true. Paint with daylight and bring me dimension, such as plants seeing in photons. Moonlit-silhouettes dancing in the eyes that take on the leaves of each other. Shooting arrows at an extinct-bird that used to terrorize the family before you. And I may be totally wrong but I'm a dancin' fool. Yet every time I think, I can't deny that I'm already dead and I already died. So why not take the scenic route? Because Fate is wyrd; revealing realms not yet visited. Sometimes you just gotta feel around in the dark; stumbling upon a bald spot, so to speak.
11/15/2025
Scales of Orion above me; snake-trails before me; feathered-patterns below our feet. Exploding whales not quite only in fairy-tales and here we are speaking of them at the same time we're singing alongside low-tide. Finding the Nest Queen within the shadows where she resides; nothing but a tumbleweed here on the shoreline. A trancedly uninhabited island in-between, laughing whole-heartedly as we're skating upon squeaky-sand; friendly neighbors waving our hello's to sleeping ducks. Showing your bare ass to the sand dunes, go for it and take a piss why won't you? Pioneers on the land and sailing seas, coming together to meet at the seam in the center - sometimes we just need a good long embrace. Can we do this forever? Capture this moment in a snow-globe and you can time travel to it whenever. Just remember where Jupiter shone bright in the sky when you go there. I have found pure contentment and delight in the journey passing through, and I love the person I have become; I suppose I was them the entire time. And now I think I might stay. Eastern horizon through our ceiling; rising sun in a crooked-tent. And I lost an earring along the way (adventures while camping on an uninhabited island, NC).
11/30/2025
Synchronized pedaling, riding as one when working together and operating in cooperation - no one is too slow, no one is too fast; we are exactly where we're supposed to be. And if one's legs tire, the other picks them up. Laughing maniacally as I let go of control in the direction we adventure. Becoming chimerical on a two-seated steed that is brought with the laughter, joy, and spontaneous excitement of another. We couldn't do it by ourselves; some new-found objects hold onto a certain kind of love. Instigating 'gators when hollering into the swamp; some animals you just don't wanna eat; bears are loaded with parasites. I give a blessing to your right-arm because we need a writer with a writing-pen; someone like you, with a helping-hand. We need a writer because they’re an original human. Impulse, animalistic, where she will find the earth, grounded in connection/consciousness. Returning to herself once again, and maybe I can show you what I see. You're a poem; a feral, feral poem. That is who she is. And I couldn't love her more; and she deserves happiness. I am back home. I laid my bones out, breathed out a sigh - I've stepped over the mountain. I know the darkness' face; I know the preacher's face; I know the puppeteer's face; I know my father's real face. And I'll stay away because after all, everyone deserves a crown of light.
12/14/2025
Do your dreams have music? Have you eaten pizza hidden in plain-sight along the sidewalk? You can make more money as a butcher, so don't waste your time on me. On a clear night upon a jetty where I sit seeing the sunrise and watch when the sunsets; shooting stars accumulate and then some that are too faint. Constellations disguised at sundown; catching meteors one-by-one, adding them up to wish for a dream. Too many to count, too good to be true; when I'm holding you, I feel like I'm holding poetry; poems to come. And our sky spins eastward, Jupiter didn't used to be there. Streaks of light, some that float and others zip; brightening a horizon. These were the times that I was afraid of. They say dark-matter makes up 85% of the gravitational-pull measured within our universe that we cannot see; we cannot uncover, so what's pulling us in the dark? Quite like an incandescent-bulb burning with infrared. Though, visible light shone by LED takes less energy - but I find Boquila Trifoliolata’s mimicry more interesting. Remember, these words are for me and what I do. There's no time to waste, but I’ll give you mine. And I’ll take y’all fishing when you get here. Kindness goes a long way.
01/01/2026
For the Sake of my Former-uterus. Because Clark Gable inspired Bugs Bunny's carrot-eating - how could they have known that gave rabbits diabetes? Sitting here talking into the TV-receiver when trying to get God to talk back to me, but it had only been radio-waves coming from a trucker's CB.
01/10/2026
I'm like a bard, you play on guitar—we're called The Seventh Trumpeter's. Pavlov-ing some worms with a bell and a lit-match, until their subconscious becomes a collection of memories come future generations keeping away from a flame that they were never burned by; they recoil in any way. But hey, the dogs got treats. I cannot control the world beyond my globe and I was already half the way down, but I can show you just how much you mean - not just to me - before you go. You are a healing person and we’re humanizing animals here; I think this love is something you should know.
The Research
Act I
01/16/2026
Immabe whatever I wannabe, and these days, I'm a wannabe-philosopher. Though, remember that I know nothing and I am here learning too - but I don't mind that I'm nervous with you. For this lesson, we're being tamed by someone important to me, someone I love dearly, so please listen carefully.
A solid-state laser, consists of a solid gain medium, often a crystal, that when excited with an external/other source of light or a flash-lamp, will emit a photon of light. Gas lasers work in a similar principle, when a certain mixture of gases are excited by an external source/electricity, the fusion will release several photons of light that when accumulated/collected, optics can be used to create the laser-beam.
Whether we are using a solid-state or a gas laser, you have this medium in which you animate the atoms within the material that brings it to a higher-energy state. However, the atoms naturally seek to exist in their natural state, but to do this, the atom must sacrifice a photon of light.
When you have all of these atoms within this material, the medium itself will not create the laser because the photons are incoherent/have no directionality. To produce a laser-beam, we need a high-reflective mirror on one side of a chamber and an output coupler (a specialized optic that reflects and transmits a certain percentage of light) parallel to the mirror - the photons within their directionality bounce back and forth between the mirror and coupler. And what can happen is that the photons of light that are already in the direction that we are aiming with the external source of light, when one of those excited atoms is struck by a photon within the correct directionality, it creates more energy when it releases a cloned-photon propelled in the same direction as the mother-photon it initially collided with - accumulate enough photons within the correct directionality, we then get our laser-beam.
In other words, Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation. Stimulate me with photobiomodulation-therapy and you'll surely see me glow - materiality in the form of my body emitting biophotons seen with technology driven by Moore's Law, propelling us in the correct directionality/closer in bringing dark-matter into light. We were shown how to feel good and told to feel bad, how unfair is that? Suspended; raise me up high and I will make my sacrifice - I'll bring quiet-grounding to whomever is listening. Let there be light; I hope to have inspired at least one of ya. I have thorns on one arm and hold my chain in the other; my gaze is unbroken, laser-focus.
Lamphere, Sarah “About | Sarah Lamphere Art,” (See Figure 1).
03/10/2026
Candle-lit dune-post, memorial at a lip wetted by ocean waves; muddy-fog silhouetting our shadows among the stars, giving us away. Waltzing giants arduously step with careful intent, missing tiny crabs en route; no-see-'ems feasting in moonlight tonight; we dance all the same. Holding hands when sailing downstream, slumbering otters drifting so up high, we're in otter-space when we dream. In an animal kingdom that lets the strongest/sharpest survive and all else die, I think I'd rather be a bird dancing for one another—plumage ablaze in patterns and color. The bridge of where I've been, where I have found, where I have given, a patchwork of fields lifting me high midway. Meeting halfway/in-between, let's compromise. When I die, please bury me under a tree, allow me the time to decide; I already know the one... just don't let me be a "freezer-creature," so to speak. At least give me that choice.
03/10/2026
I've forgotten how to grieve because I was not believed and I tend to document everything happening around me at the moment that they occur; it's oddly validating. And that's when the pattern revealed itself - and I think to myself, how lucky am I? My lid is wide open. What do you mean “my lid?” Your lid, it's open and I can see it - anything can get in if you leave your lid wide open. Well, then I will close my lid; I have closed my lid. No, you haven't, it's still open. But she said that she closed it, her lid. No, I can see it, your lid is still open on your box. Get your mind out of the gutter, man. No, your box, the box with all of your stuff in it - the lid is off of your box. And she climbs back into bed and gripes about years spent journaling and exploring my mind to realize that I'm not all that interesting; another day wasted. Little had I known, my box was inside out. That being said, may I join you in your high-ness, your highness? She sorta feels like a wild animal who loves me; so turn around, you're gonna enjoy it. I put the Sarah in serotonin-syndrome; smelling the PFAs in the airwaves. Tide so low, we'll see the levy dry; hit the Fat Pelican bar along the way. And in my peripheral, I see my children in rapture; cowhides suspended in abandoned churches. Allow the writing and creating to come from being forced to outlive a volcano and allow the pressure to direct your attention onward.
03/17/2026
A bleak-brackish where the fresh and salt exist - millions of years and shark-teeth skipped under our feet dredged up by men controlling an environment. You're soaking wet; so get out of the rain. Nature has a funny way of making everything seem like what you need; the shark-teeth, I mean - the labor of hope compels us to continue looking anyway. Like a one-man isolated tribe upon an island no one resides on, yet a select few would be invited in; others attempt to flee before they are feasted upon by the beast. Fire is rare, fire is entirely different, because fire is bright; fire is clean, fire breathes carbon and fire eats oxygen to live. You must have life to give birth; the dawn of fire. Listening to the trees creaking/speaking to me from above, dreaming beside a distant fire deep within a forest on a free-island with a tribe of one - now is the time that cowboys speak about their feelings: we say we feel like Fire, like we are the fire. But everyone is Fire, so wouldn't you just truly wanna be you? I sit here writing this for you, wishing you were here sitting next to me and I sit by, observing this fire consume me and everything, even the house I reside in, witnessing it burn down around me. It is quiet. I see myself held in place in front of a seething fire exhumed. Just remember, though, to keep the nose pointed towards big waves or else to flip a kayak... so to speak. Hitch a ride but be kind, I tend to eat the entrails of those who don't survive.
03/31/2026
You mentioned a key; a word that unlocked a memory. A fleeting feeling that I wouldn't be able to hold on to had you not said it. I had completely forgotten that time, that emotion until you brought up that piece of me. And I have this snail in my inner-ear telling me to say something weird, so come here near enough for me to whisper "I wouldn't mind dwelling in the allegory of your cave." I am not someone fit to lead, sand fleas attacking me, hitting the sand in the character of a sea lion tossing onto its side, alongside is where I reside. Watching a good pal drinking warm Busch Light found beside neighboring geese hissing from their perches and nests; left for us by former birds of passage or had it been our former-selves? Sand fleas attacking me.
04/16/2026
Mistakes, like steel hammered more and more into oneself - an opportunity to mold myself with each strike of metal. The previous chapter had controlled you, here is where you captain your story and apply what you have learned along the way. Hardened in the forge, now you gotta wield the sword for yourself. We are of today not we of yesterday; so write your chapter and start at Chapter One. I often wear my sole on the bottom of my shoe, it's always grounding per se. Whales are the size that they are because they inspire air and the atmosphere directly, they process energy differently than most life of the marine - they have expanded brains because of how they breathe. It's harder to absorb oxygen underwater and we’re already drowning, so to speak. Their evolution is broken, their closest living relative the hippopotamus, yet they survived to this day breathing the same air in the same way that we do - they decided to keep growing, too. All this time spent evolving lungs, only four times in the entirety of all the species did we decide to sprout wings and take flight. Now you gotta ask yourself, is this where you wanna stay? Rolling in place with a mauled-lamb; a chasing coyote giving language to describe the technology of yesterday. It's time to take off.
04/16/2026
Forever in a roseate floral-top turning from a candy shop, continuing in our roles until someone else's story is told. Impeding traffic with camera equipment. Here, most people want something - so tell me, what is it that you desire? What is your goal? Well, she's upset that we're covering her signs. Most of us just want someone to listen and acknowledge our concerns. I find life rather funny when coming upon the absurd mundane moments that makes our time here a bit more; longer. Time dilation captured in film; stilled in that weird space seemingly looping in perpetuum. I found myself manning a bar for boats'n Joes in a wooden-boat that may or may not float. Just keep in mind that there are often avenues that aren't true, but we don't gotta lotta time here - so let me be clear and this is something I know for real, you're a good person. You are kind and that was shown, I would know. We're still learning to breathe above water, so don't waste your energy on something intrusive other than what is in front of you, incarnate, or whatever you oughta care about - you would know. Why do you speak of yourself in that way? What do you have to say, or is it that your perception was severely, sincerely, dismissed/distorted/obscured by our own words until we're shouting ‘mayday!’? Let's do some experimenting and put it to the test, we'll worry about the rest here and there, until then. And who exactly is influencing who here, or perhaps these lessons were filtered from me to you - what do you think? Drop the weight and come with me, lift the finger - little-by-little, one-by-one, floating towards a sky. But take it slow or else it might sound like Velcro tearing. It's time to raise yourself up high; I did all that I could to make my peace with you. And when things tend to fall apart, starting with my heart - remember where to build your strength because here's where we begin to mend with gratitude. Giving couch-surfing new meaning when riding upon a pale-yellow floral-couch in the bed of a pick-up truck. And don't worry, I'll send ya back home real soon. Watch out for deer when you hit the road.
05/06/2026
The bureaucracy of car insurance policies and anyone involved in a wreck, airbags deploying and everything, ain't making money as they were once accustomed to in direct correlation to the rising gas prices and war in Iran - something reveals itself. Accidents break into scarcity and not so many traffic fatalities occur with the dissolution of personal transportation - the second-extinction of the dinosaurs, or so I would like to anticipate. Collision repairs become more rare when auto-body mechanics pull back, the money ain't there. Biking and hitch-hiking are the new Mustangs and Corvettes, I remembered tourist season being a bitch this time of year. Not a lotta people this go-around, and look! A whole sea for you and me. So let's get running and reach promise land before they tear it down.
05/06/2026
The majority of deep-universe galaxies prior to our own, rotate together in the same way, at least 2/3rds looping clockwise - we're still asking why and that's by design. Suspended in the calm center, eye of the tornado. Now here's an odd one, and hear me out, what if the Big Bang came from a star collapsing and outside of that, another universe - a world within worlds, outside of ours. Something in the way... are you a friend of Dorothy? Gale supported creatives quite like you and me, something over the rainbow, but don't forget that some folk go both ways. Eastern rains pulling inland by a river home to the alligator. And the closer we are to shore, rest assured the dissipation of precipitation; storm-clouds breaking into kaleidoscopic daydreams of every hue, another universe beyond the prismatic-gate. So throw your hat over the fence and leave it for now, but soon enough you gotta go get it - not before the ground-skink's tail falls off in the palm of your hand. Sun your leaves, walking tree; walking on stilts in slow motion, time hasn't stilled - let's go fetch that hat.
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