the obfuscationing of oracular proclaims . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

the obfuscationing of oracular proclaims
(gathering the splattering dark mattering)

politicos marching sycophant’n in rows 
dogs they hogs slopp’n slopps in droves
spitting names claims and other profanes
signifying back’n’forth at one another
deftly missing the heads of each other
face-to-face on their respective sides
of the same old same legislationing isles
shamelessly hustling themselves and 
most of us all with this same old lame old 
inane old manifest destinationing game

they pretentious self-ordaining themmms
wannebee masters of deceit wet nursing
their shadowing humdrum’n souls and those 
of their collateralling legions of themmms 
incarcerationing for life in enthrall’n stalls
of crediting cards and mortgaging walls 
sequestering on’n’on and endlessly on
in the frothing jaws of themmm
misanthropic pied-piping reality puppeteers

we’re all robotically mystify’n mesmerize’n 
justify’n fantasizing our self-terrorize’n  
enabling our scared delusional themmms
blatantly basting their eternal right to rule
in the carnivorously reborning addiction
of get’n higher and progressively higher
on their erroneous ouroboros curriculum
of mechanically swallow’n their own tales
in !LOUD! persistent public incantationings 
and habitual archival perverse-a-nationings
so !drown’n’out! the oracular proclaimings
of ever more’n’more of THEMMM THEMMMS
still cross’n on through the turning styles
of helplessly suiciding crimsoning seas
so nicking these Pharohing-ning seeds

Copyright (c) 2021 Asili Ya Nadhiri

so rabidly loud we’re blatantly imploding . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

*so rabidly loud we’re blatantly imploding
(the flagrance of our moral dispensationings)

wannabe hustling ‘cause it’s so wantonly in vogue
splashing clashings entangling in the sloshing
of this viralling serpentining beholding enfolding 
and we’re all just numbingly run’n marching on
hypnotizing in drowning here in this viral din 
of hearing this same old over’n’over again

our reality orchestrationing of !ME!ME!ME!
is one loud droning beat so it’s fitting us all
trancing here in line auctionating !MY! stuff
snorting debilitating musings of our daily news
foraging on the stubble of this same old blues
zombies trying to hide in this rapacious montage

we’re vaunting worshipers of sirening voices
puking luring dirgings of reverberating notions  
of the same old plathera of phantoming potions
illusions so covering-up the bleeding confusions 
of shadows avidly gulping on mythical allusionings
so always clinging onto our glaring delusionings

no mattering if when is then or then is when
or now’s just somewhere in between 
‘cause everything’s seeming like it’s all the same
to them of us all here shame of themselves
wallowing in the mucous of every bogus claim
by them lead’n’em‘round who’re just as inane
‘cause all this is !is justa game! justa game!!!
with all the players being the same old same

Copyright (c) 2021 Asili Ya Nadhiri


Our humanity is always evolving out of the revelatory width and breadth of our collective entangling. Art is a visceral portrait of a piece of a piece of our hologramic reality.


i’m seeing the shadows 
of seamless moments
in the quickening glancings
scurrying here on back inside
 to their hiding from the dawn 
 bruising and silently erasing
in the swallowing embouchurings 
of our ethnic embracings

“Impoverishinged-ing” is a word (impoverish) to which the suffixes -ing + ed + ing are afixing in order to be describing the manner in which we humans are always acting upon, being acted upon, and always nowing in then and when; becoming as we are persistently cultivating our spiritual, moral, and intellectual demise. Imitating and emulating one another is a common means by which we assist our maturationing; and this behavior is also an essential factor in our existential invisiblizing when it is being clung to as a  primary means by which we are trying to avoid taking ownership of the person whose reflection we are seeing in the mirror on the wall and in the eyes of our fellow beings. 

From very early childhood we are experiencing ourselves being encouraged (within and without) to imitate those older (and presumably wiser) than we. Of course, as maturation progresses, it is normally expected that this propensity to imitate will be naturally deminishing as it is morphing us on into self-sustaining participants of our respective societies. Why then, are we are so persistently and desperately holding onto and aggressively propagating this imitating behavior far beyond normal expectations?

We are conspicuously training ourselves to be morphing into obscene overdosings of imitationing on our way to aggressively reducing ourselves to addicts in the “reality show” world of “ME!ME!ME!ME!ME!” to the extreme of drastically devaluing the existential rights of us all. This progression is a very common and encompassing behavior that societies are rapidly encouraging their citizens to be obsessively revering. It is the same one that we are birthing there in our most original homo sapien communal collectives; and that is continously and rabidly invading and subsuming the lives of us all as we are frantically herding ourselves so expeditiously on into a collective carnivorous invisiblizing. 

We are allowing ourselves to be enthralled by a few others (THEMMMS) who are designating themselves as the ordained models for this most diabolical camouflaging. Of course, we are blinding ourselves to the reality that those THEMMMs through whose lives we are slavishly trying to be vicariously living, are, in fact, doing the same thing, too—and even more desperately abhoring and existentially disavowing the reflection staring at them there in their mirrors. . .

the prey is always preying too
swallowing one’s tail
is always never through
and not the answer
for what to do 

We are always in the crosshairs of our choosing. Everything is always drummming in the rhythming of what everything else is drummming. By means of ourselves, we’re always featuring the human dynamics generating impoverishinged-ing. This novel is attempting to lay bare the dynamics of this aggressive and progressively swallowing human proclivity. The setting is a small southern coastal tobacco town we’re calling Abidenton. This is a small society, wherein, there are much smaller societies, within which there are always even smaller ones. Abidenton is a tiny piece of a dramatically larger cultural hologram that is assisting in the magnification of the dynamics of the greater whole with quite a mouth full of “southern drawl ya’ll.” 

Do not fall prey to the notion that the human dynamics of smalltowns are vastly different from the much larger metropolitian areas. This notion is meritorous only if the portrait is painted, primarily, with numerical parameters (socio-economic demographics). By means of the Abidenton milieu, this novel is trying to lay bare the dynamics of the aggressively and progressively consuming existential reality of IMPOVERISHINGED-ING.

Copyright © 2016, 2017, 2020, 2021

drowning on in our themmming themmms . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form

*drowning on in our themmming themmms
(entrancing on in ouroboros circumstancing) 

serpentining is nowing here then 
and always here nowing when 
marching out of our primordial womb  
themmming mo’ themmms  
just like all the other themmms  
coveting themmm other themmms 
forcefully enslaving and cowarding 
other themmms just like themmm
by audaciously ignoring oracular warnings   
of dangerous proverbial sins pouring forth
and propagating more themmms
perpetuationing on just like themmm

we’re all themmms like any other themmm
addictionationing and desperationing clones
celebrating our well honed fatal-cidal whims 
molding and infectuously enthralling us all 
with confusing abusing algorithming refrains
mesmerizing in slow low mo’ mo’ hump’n OMs 
wallowing in the perverse-nationing cloning 
of all us all by all us all 
here hypnotic automatoning 
in the coffling vicarious dispensationings
of synthesized bastardizing drummm tones
and all we’re doing is just running on around
and on arounding in this all arounding
‘cause we’re keeping on keeping on suckling
on the slithering tail of our sidewinding tales

Copyright © 2015 Asili Ya Nadhiri

in a make-believe sheath of no relief . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

in a make-believe sheath of no relief
(we’re addictionationing right here
in the jaws of our addictionationing)

auctioning echos are seditiously taunting 
the papering walls of our hollowing souls
with enfolding potions surrendering notions
so what do you think we’re weaning 
 by desperately flaunt’n 
lame duplicitous scheme’n
the tendering of cribs is rarely there
in this abortioning reality of dare
shifty eyes are just hustling glances
rustling cattle to a bogus some where 
so what do you think we’re weaning
 by desperately flaunt’n 
our lame duplicitous scheme’n
the arms we’re pretending to beholding us
are just the same old beguiling synthesizings
drumming the cadence of our succumbing 
so what do you think we’re weaning 
 by desperately flaunt’n 
our lame duplicitous scheme’n
our mesmerizing pixellationings are only
clevering deceptionings of a vetted dispair
 oozing out of the stench 
of always want’n but being wanted nowhere 
so what do you think we’re weaning 
 by desperately flaunt’n 
our lame duplicitous scheme’n
so busily forever running’n’running
and always having no other plan 
but our heads stuck here in this sand
just baiting our lines with more baiting
so what do you think we’re weaning 
 by desperately flaunt’n 
our lame duplicitous scheme’n
rolling this long and scripted reality dice 
run’n standing here leaning on run’n
get’n high on being audaciously numb 
so exalting ourselves for being dumb
so what do you think we’re weaning 
 by desperately flaunt’n 
our lame duplicitous scheme’n


Copyright © 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

the insurging demise of insurgent eyes (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

the insurging demise of insurgent eyes 

we’re all just pixels
pixel-lating ourselves
in pixel-lationings
of endlessly emptying moments
bulging over 
‘cause they’re here
filling with nothing then
when when is nothing
‘cept just another then

but how can such be
pixels are supposing to make see
somethings else we’re making be
so having other things
‘sides what we calling me

but then what when this stage goes dead
choking on this dessert filling my head
that’s shackling me here instead
and keeps keeping on texting
“just as long as this screen’s lightening up
you can be sure you’re living
and not just here being somewhere dead”

Copyright © 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

purpling (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

(just wanting to be loved . . . but too scared)

we’re here in crowds of ourselves
chickens packing tight and smelling too
march’n blindly just like we’re told to do 
carelessly bump’n all into one another
a drop of blood falls! from some body else
!and we run’n all over one another! 
so making sure of being in the pecking too
swearing what we doing “it aint personal”
it’s just doing what you ‘spose’n to do 
here nibbling on any body else 
so long as it aint you

we just syncopating lying and why-ing
try’n to shuffle ourselves into somebody else 
so camouflage-ing how we all too scared
to even daring to be talking ‘bout nothing
run’n by just sit’n here say’n we running
staying like we is ‘cause we is as we is
believing the only thing here for’us left
is mixing the same old same old 
with a whole heap of nothing else 

we getting higher and higher so pretending 
done learn how not be feeling alone
by flooding our empty veins of loneliness
with liquid arms of hallucinating porns
and plastic tombs of pixellating charms
serpentining the norms of social forms
so magically!POOF!we somebody new
feeling no pain ‘cause we numb
calling stagger’n swagger’n like we dumb 
on and on we going aloning all alone 
and celebrating our becoming no one

Copyright © 2019 Asili Ya Nadhiri

there is no eventing on the horizon of giving-up . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

there is no eventing on
 the horizon of giving-up
(that it is what it is is never all
what is that it’s being as it is)

introverting eyes caving in on themselves
chancing no glacing just prancing 
the thumping hypnotizing soundings are
automating the syncopating bodies parts
so but we still aint dancing no mo’
we’re shattered shattering scatterings
coffling in delusioning illusionings

bumping and grinding
fabricating the heat of romancing
grinning here always looking ‘round
so enfolding in beholding 
own entrancing
while raising our hands
so like the roof is rising up
bodies bleeding tatoos 
is our democratizing proof
of this serpentining ruse  

cocooning here 
in a legislating somebody 
so not believing we’re dancing
right here on the cusp
of never ever seen being no more 

Copyright © 2019 Asili Ya Nadhiri

so just instead of being dead (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

*so just instead of being dead

all we doing in these fields here now
is shoot’n mess in our veins . . .
us aint used to no shit like this!
just treading water with no hands in this muddy hold
done give up on try’n to get to a shore
no matter how hard i’m wishing i caint
the gov’ment keep promising to massage
my tird aching joints and wrinkling hands
with welfaring drippings of fool’s gold 
but this trick aint working like dey say’n
all i’m doing’s just weathering here wait’n
pimpimg my vote to any somebody who
lying out real !loud! ‘bout how they
drawing some kinda goddamn line in the sand
when aint nothing but dirt in these fields
and mud hardening up ‘round my waist
 in this pond that’s here somewhere inside my head
but what the hell! . . . we too old
for thinking ‘bout any kind of sump’n else
got no choice but to keep wrapping up
in all us being given for to behold
“aint your fault neighbor
for be’n how ya’ll still being here is!

so we be feeling for least a minute
like us instead of being dead

Copyright © 2019, 2021 Asili Ya Nadhiri