Enjoy the poem. Find Phoenix at

white blue red favorite shirt


cheap hurt

all the dead words

that we insert 

into our brainwashed minds

existing insane



at all

triple fall

words we speak through the violence

we repeat

thoughts we stop

that we defeat

thoughts we prevent

it’s a constant trick

uptick fake and quick

can’t talk

or exist

or flourish

the same styles we revile

and revamp

recertify and stamp

the same 

harm we cause with 

our own hand 

beat bloody blue bruised dreams and

won’t repent

or repeat

or feel anything 

anything we may block

for being

too off track

another trick

it’ll work it

works and

that hurts

stop me for sport blood


can’t keep track of it

another trick I 

sell out always

want more of it

to feel good

to feel wanted

to want anything I might want

I’m grateful for that

but you missed the point

of my whole words

and free poems

and star theories and 

planet promises like black holes

I wanted something else

something not so 



not so obvious

but still special

to see

a star

or maybe develop a theory 

that could repair

the trauma of our 


thoughts of the galaxies

and entire moralities

to see it all somehow

I wanted more

I wanted more from you

I wanted to be me

I wanted to show you something

I wanted to see the universe

not just bought a dirt cheap shirt but I just repeat myself unsure:

I wanted a trip 

outside of the universe

that we make.

Logic (A Poem)

Enjoy. Find Phoenix at


E = MC

calculate the risk like in physics



rar(e) w-rong 



deep psychological stuff

not enough

I’ve I 


feel too much of a cutthroat LOGIC

dead code 

code dead


your head around

(un)sound argument 

sad I’ve felt 

I have(

lost nearly everything I ever cared about

good intent-ions

to feel



E-verything and light isn’t squared



id word dead 


believe anything to feel better


a A destruction of Action —


I communicate nothing

getting by with


ounce of pain eON


anyway and unchange

a tornado spinning in my head A UFO


the lie (like)

lost outside symbol-ism cold from

a lack of wisdom—

it might seem similar.. It’s not

too much 

of words we’ve lost.

This poem was about logic but feeling crushed is not logical.


Find Phoenix at

Enjoy the poem.

I guess I had thought I wasn’t good enough.

Maybe because I have feelings

I don’t understand.

And who understands themselves today?

I try to imagine if I was different.

But I don’t like this.

I guess in that way

I can allow myself.

To be different.

I can tell the truth anyway.

I can be different.

If I’ll be accepted,

or just left in the volatile confusion of

a world that makes me feel

stuck. Cold ice heart frigid.

And yet,

I move forward.

Pick myself up.

I tell myself,

if, maybe a little kiss, anyway,

or anything meaningful,

anything I’ll care about,

I’ll like you, probably,

or instead, I’ll just think of

when I was a kid again,

and didn’t know who I was,

but if it’s possible to fall in love,

I really want to.

If the key is to wait for the truth,

you’ll wait a long time.

Truth is hard.

I don’t communicate

raw emotions

and the monologue of the tormented thoughts,

I’m honest,

and truth is nothing to me

without decency.


It’s like

a kind of sad song you listen to a lot.

A sad scene in a show.

Did you think I’d be someone special,

or was it just

the empty promises

and broken hearts

and sad songs.

I don’t want to freeze myself in such cold loss again,

I’m myself again.

To feel love is a huge responsibility.

I don’t know what it means.

I don’t know what any of it means.

But I will nonetheless 

seek the truth. Honest!

I’m not such a kid anymore.

I’m a man.

Maybe I’d want anything different,

or nothing at all.

To feel love

will still break your heart. Always.

My phrases and sentiments can’t protect me from this.

Yet I move forward.

To love anyway.

Because I need to.

I love myself today.


Enjoy the poem. Find Phoenix at

I derail

thought of (implicit Hell)

made a place

to be and see

to think of no reality 


indifferent or apathetic

risk took

or just another dead spirit




bitter blood

unstable soul

too cold

I invent an entire reality in my head

to break

my own rhythms and my

corrupted systems

trying to imagine

but feeling too much

of my own


sweet words and song that

makes me feel



sweet song 

I can’t philosophize through

my own create


creative lies


want something anyway

without knowing why


bitter blood

feud with

a corrupting flood


guitar chord

thoughts as black as my

false god


the words I want to                           split down the middle


I don’t care

I don’t care anymore

spark of divinity made

to be dark like

the corruption of 

spirited insight

bitter bitter

free flight










sensitive to nothing and

cold spirit and

dead spirited response 

do I say anything again

or just 



never held


and this bitter bitter blood 

sweet song 

a flood

I just want to feel at home


a brutal shade of poem:

I’ve lost track again.

The Unlimited (from Griffin Feathers)

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Enjoy this excerpt from Phoenix’s novel Griffin Feathers. Enjoy the YouTube reading below.

Like I said before, English class was the time when me and my friends could all be together. Ever since we’d worked it out with The Punk, things had been a lot smoother, and a lot more enjoyable.

            Which, naturally, would be perfect, for more than one reason. But definitely because I was sure that things were going to heal if The Punk kept doing what he was doing.

            We were all sitting outside, enjoying each other’s company. Maxwell was telling a joke, and making us laugh a million miles an hour, and it was perfect. I honestly couldn’t ask for more.

            Then the bell rang, signaling for us to get to class.

            Maxwell finished his joke as we walked toward the class, and then we all sat down together. I felt as though nothing could tear us apart. Our friendship was unlimited, our care for each other endless. It felt good.

            Ms. Burns went to the front of the class, and said, “All right, you guys, you trouble makers, you punks, you hoodlums … today we’re going to talk about a theory of literature that’s been floating around recently.”

            Ms. Burns paused. I looked around and saw that all of us were at the edge of our seats, which made me smile. We loved anything Ms. Burns taught. We loved the mystery. How could we not? She was intelligent and savvy. She was awesome, to put it bluntly. She was good with kids.

            “There’s a theory floating around,” Ms. Burns began, “about the unlimited text and the limited text. I’m going to talk mostly about the unlimited text, but it would probably be helpful to know about the limited text, so you have a source of comparison.”

            I looked at my friends, and saw that they were still at the edge of their seats. Even The Punk was, and he never got that excited about this stuff.

            “There is a novel called The Street Kid, which tells the story of Phoenix.”

            “Yeah, that’s my world,” Maxwell said proudly.

            “I would say,” Ms. Burns continued, acknowledging Maxwell with a nod, “that that is a limited text. It’s a limited text because, if you look at the writing, it’s very … I don’t want to say convoluted, but … mentally complicated. And that’s not even including the actual structure of the novel, which is indeed complex, what with the way that stream of consciousness thoughts mix in with stream of consciousness narrative in interrupting and seamless ways, which I imagine would be difficult to follow, the way the thoughts meander. But the novel follows the viewpoint of Phoenix, who is split in many ways, and complicated, because he can’t even figure out what reality and fiction is. He can’t figure out, who he is. Not to mention the fairly large cast of characters that are probably hard to follow, and even the writing itself, which is a little … elevated. Those elements make up the limited text. Essentially, a limited text is anything that is complex in certain ways, whether it’s the language, the plot, etc. etc. Are you guys following me so far?”

            “Loud and clear,” Maxwell said.

            “Now, anyway, the unlimited text, would be … oh, I would say, a story kind of like: Griffin’s story.”

            I wasn’t sure what to think of this. I lived in an unlimited text? I wanted Ms. Burns to continue, all of this was extremely fascinating.

            “An unlimited text is a text that is extra good with characterization, where you can practically imagine the characters as living real lives. Unlimited texts carry a large degree of innocence with them, and a little bit of heartache. Usually, unlimited texts are narrated by a kid, but not always, and they are usually stronger in first person, to capture the immediacy of the character, but not always. Plenty a good unlimited text has been written in third person.”

            “Why does it have to be good at characterization?” The Punk asked.

            “Because the characters are what make the story. They are the story. In the limited text, that aspect can be experimented with a little bit. Characters can simply be caricatures, or metaphors, or symbols, and the like. Not always, but they can be. An unlimited text has succeeded if you can see a character you’re reading about walking around in your mind, and walking around in the supposedly fictional space they occupy. The goal of the unlimited is fully realized if you see them walking around in the real world.”

            I absorbed all of this information, like water to a dry sponge. I was fascinated by the idea of the limited and unlimited text.

            “In contrast to the limited text, the unlimited text seeks to be simple. Not necessarily as simple as possible, and not necessarily in the sense that it has no complexity at all … but, it’s still simple. And it has to be simple, if it’s trying to describe child-like things, innocent things, kid things. But that doesn’t mean the unlimited text isn’t complex in other ways. It’s complex in the sense that it constantly has to remind the reader that they are reading about an innocent kid, or reading about innocence, or just reading about something that’s … awesome. It’s a text that puts humans in a positive light, showing off the vulnerabilities of the average person.”

            “Following that logic,” Maxwell said, “I should be in an unlimited text.”

            “Why do you say that?” Ms. Burns asked.

            “Because that’s all Phoenix’s world is about, is about that vulnerability. You see it in Phoenix, and you see it in other characters. I know I have an innocent side to me, will always have that side, and so just because I’m in a language-rich, language-complex, world, doesn’t mean that I’m also not in an unlimited text.”

            “I see your point,” Ms. Burns said, “and I’m not even going to disagree with you. But for the sake of understanding the stark contrast between the two, try to see The Street Kid as a limited text, and Griffin’s world, or Griffin Feathers, as an unlimited text.”

            I could see what Ms. Burns was trying to do. Not stick something as being one way or the other, but showing that by looking at things a certain way, we could understand unique things about the world, and about literature.

            I felt excited, at the prospect that I was living in an unlimited text. I liked to think that I was with innocent people. Good people. There was something comforting about that. And it seemed to be the case, in many ways. My friends were innocent. Even The Punk had an innocent side … perhaps one harder to describe, but it was still there.

            “But one thing you need to understand about the unlimited text is that it’s evasive,” Ms. Burns continued.

            “What do you mean?” Maxwell said.

            “What do I mean?” Ms. Burns paused, and went to her bookshelf and pulled out a copy of The Street Kid. She said, “The problem with limited texts is that they are tangible. Maybe not mentally, because of how complex they are, but … literally. So, Maxwell, you could very well say that I’m holding this book, right?”

            Maxwell nodded.

            “An unlimited text is exactly the opposite. Limited texts seek to be real by being as super-intelligent as possible, as complex as they can possibly be. The unlimited seeks to get people to feel. But feel what? Rather, it seems that while the unlimited text can possess technical, structural, even experimental traits, things that are indeed mechanical, like good characterization, they also seek to capture the unlimited. They seek to capture a feeling that has a mind of its own. It’s too simple to say that an unlimited text is just about innocence. And while that’s true, it seems that the unlimited text is something that is ultimately intangible, the way it needs to be. But it is something that makes you feel good about humanity, for various reasons, of course, and depending on the text … but they do actually exist in that way, if that makes sense.”

            Maxwell jumped to his feet. “I get it!”

            “What do you get, Maxwell, dear?” Ms. Burns asked.

            “I see why it has to be intangible, Miss,” Maxwell said.

            “Would you like to explain for the class?” Ms. Burns said.

            Maxwell nodded his head, and began: “The unlimited is, in some ways, though this is an oversimplification, is … love. And true love for another human being, is … intangible. The unlimited text isn’t about showing off how smart you are, but showing the reader, or reflecting in the reader, things like love. Empathy. Compassion. Kindness. Kid-ness. Perhaps even to the point of pain. And that’s why I think The Street Kid is also an unlimited text, though it will probably be pigeonholed forever as a limited text, a mere cerebral exercise. Though Phoenix is a real person.”

            “Well, certainly no disagreement from me,” Ms. Burns said. “Crazily enough, I think I agree with you, about the unlimited, and why it’s more of an idea that can be felt, an emotion that can be appreciated, rather than just words on a page that create a particular effect.”

            I definitely appreciated Maxwell’s take on the unlimited text, and I had to admit, it made a lot of sense to me. The unlimited was something that could only be felt, not intuited rationally.

            Painter had something to say about exactly that: “It reminds me a little bit of Eastern, ancient Chinese philosophy.”

            “In what ways, Painter?” Ms. Burns asked.

            “In the sense that we shouldn’t always intuit our world around us through the logical means. That’s why I think art is so important, because it doesn’t always have to be about logic. It can be, to the point of murder, even, but it doesn’t always have to be that way. Sometimes it can get you to simply feel, and I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

            “Very astute observation, Painter,” Ms. Burns said. “And I think your reference to Chinese philosophy is very relevant here.”

            “But it is its own thing, though,” Painter clarified. “It has to be. I’ve never heard of this unlimited theory, anywhere. But it’s fascinating.”

            “Well, it doesn’t get taught a lot,” Ms. Burns said, “but I thought you guys might like some literary theory with your literature. And that is actually the assignment. What I’d like all of you to do is go to your local library and find books that fit into the unlimited and limited category. You don’t have to read the whole book, just pick up a few books and read a passage or two, and if it seems to go one way or the other, note it. Your assignment is to find one limited text and one unlimited text, and write why it makes you feel that way.”

            It didn’t sound like too hard of an assignment, and I had to admit, I definitely wanted to go and look and see if I could find the limited and unlimited in literature. I thought the dichotomy between the two texts was interesting, and I could write a whole paper about that, if I wanted to.

            I decided I would leave such a task to Painter, since he was the brilliant analyst of these things.

            “So I guess that’s why the text is considered limited,” Painter said. “Because, we are limited by what we try to pinpoint as tangible. Intelligence can ultimately only go so far, but emotion … that can go a million different ways.”

            “Yes, definitely, Painter, that … I agree with for sure,” Ms. Burns said. “Personally, I like unlimited texts better, but I of course appreciate the beauty of the limited text. Writers like Shakespeare probably wouldn’t have the same weight if they weren’t limited, of course.”

            We talked about the two different texts, the binary, for a few more minutes, and then the bell rang.

            I knew that now we needed to go our separate ways, to go to our next class, but The Punk caught me off guard when he came up to me and said, “I think that was why I felt uncomfortable by you at first, Griffin.”           

            “What do you mean?” I asked, not sure what The Punk was talking about.

            “I saw power in the limited text, in having the most brains, in having the strongest brawn and might … but you, my friend, are a walking unlimited text, and I think I was intimidated by that brilliance. There is brilliance in the unlimited text, you know, even if the goal is more about the beauty of simplicity. And I think that just wasn’t appreciated by me.”

            “Well, thank you, Punk,” I said.

            I must say, this compliment caught me off guard. I knew that The Punk was changing, becoming nicer, but this compliment was still very kind-hearted.

            “I think I was trying to turn Kip into a limited text, because I felt like a limited text myself,” The Punk continued. “But I don’t want to do that anymore. I can’t say I won’t stop smoking, but I won’t smoke around Kip anymore. Hopefully he’ll get the message.”

            I felt enormously relieved at this, and smiled at The Punk. “That would be amazing, my good friend.”

            “It’s the least I can do. I’m starting to repent from my ways, realizing how much chaos and unneeded destruction I’ve caused. I think a little bit is inevitable. I’m an anarchist libertarian for a reason, you know. But, on the same token, I should have respected your guys’s unlimited nature more. Painter is so unlimited he could probably paint the whole world. And that’s just Painter. All of you are unique in your various ways, and it’s incredible. That’s all I wanted to say.”

            Then before I could say anything, The Punk was off.