m.t. whitington


A force majeure, female catalyst, futurist, polemicist, psychonaut, epistemologist. Ruminating between the lines with a clarion call and extreme unction.  A global writer with southern roots.


um…scientific delirium madness

um…scientific delirium madness

um…what is this


scientific delirium madness?


leap forward, slide back on star dunes.


see the city sunset over me.


haunting bridge of Aeolian tunes,


the floor sways at the end of the day.


autonomous boats speed through the bay.


the downtown island heats the wind,


acrophobic one rides the wave 


coasting on glass balconies,


eye level noodles the knees to bend.


projection streaming art handedness,


right and left, signs of neon and helium.


high altitude alcohol force majeure


dreaming of Lala Lallia arabasque motifs.


little mineral grains of rechargeable batteries


tower in the star dunes, crystals of endless love. 


performance artist with mathematician


counts the stars and elevator floors.


um…who heard the whales in the wind?


 and just like that the sky changed,


charged in the entire armamentarium,


dreaming and the light turned green.


we walked the crosswalk to the rapid ticking,


the beat begged for the street name,


blindly speeding towards singularity.


self-driving RNA of butterfly wings,


hues of pigmented patterns,


light-refracting colors, crash into me. bending,


the direct energy of the fifth dimension.  


in what direction did it come from?


review the electronic surveillance.


um…what is this


scientific delirium madness?


in tow, listen to the wind blow,


cyanide blue mixes in beautiful pain,


a fault, a shadow, an existential stain.


a rip in the fabric of spacetime,


time coiled up on itself, 


a serpent, an ouroboros eating its tail.


screaming all the stories hidden in parachute silks,


can you hear them? hear the helicopters coming?


all the world crumbled, with only a few breaths left to milk.


keep falling as long as you live.


falling mystery,  remain open secrets.


remember this place. never forget the error,


scientific delirium madness. the aftersoul,


when we cease to understand the world


tune to the banshee, next time turn, and look twice.


um…an Aeolian rhetorical device.

The Fog Serpent                                      (hat tip to Carl Sandburg)

The Fog Serpent (hat tip to Carl Sandburg)

Moloch of Fashion

Moloch of Fashion