Reincarnation

by Jeremiah Walton

Took a stab at yolo and was reincarnated
I've died twice today.
once with the Moon
& once drunk in tree tops.

Launch of cross country mobile bookstore & publisher

June 14, 2014
For Immediate Release

Mobile bookstore and publisher prepares to launch a cross country journey in the style of Jack Kerouac.

Independent publishers Nostrovia! Poetry and UndergroundBooks have launched a crowd fundraising campaign to organize a cross-country mobile bookstore and publishing house called Books & Shovels.  Books & Shovels, headed by Jeremiah Walton, a 19 year old poet from New Hampshire, and founder of Nostrovia! Poetry, will begin its cross country journey at the 2014 NYC Poetry Festival on Governor’s Island.

Aiming to promote passionate living, Books & Shovels exists to encourage others to be willing to make sacrifices to accomplish their dreams.  The store is run of a station wagon, and sets up shop at literary festivals, open mics, poetry slams, and on street corners, distributing poetry chapbooks, street books, cds, records, novels, comics, graffiti, and displays of passion.  You can donate your materials to Books & Shovels for distribution through their website.

Nostrovia! Poetry was founded in 2011, and has since published chapbooks, zines, street books, video poems, any median it can sink its teeth into.  Nostrovia! Poetry has been featured at the 2013 and 2014 Midwest Small Press festivals, the 2013 NYC Poetry Festival, and Cleveland's 2014 Snoetry Festival.   Known for its guerilla marketing tactics and street performing missions, Nostrovia! Poetry will not be silent.

Books & Shovels is seeking pledges to help finance the project.  Money can be pledged through their IndieGoGo campaign at igg.me/at/mobilebookstore.  Information on Nostrovia! Poetry can be found at nostroviatowriting.com.

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Contact:

Jeremiah Walton, Nostrovia! Poetry
Tel: 603-727-6710
Email: jeremiahwalton (at) nostroviatowriting.com

NAIL CLIPPINGS

by Jeremiah Walton

There is no time to trim our nails
Along our carpentry games
our trousers must be removed
and the clouds in our hearts
must storm
to prove soul
to sunrise love.

Rifles

by Jeremiah Walton

Rifles blessed by a priest
aim at the weak and hungry
and fire.

Rifles loaded through art of forgetting
the sweeping of shame under the rug
They fire.

Contemporary politics are disgusting
Its rifles are hideous.

The 8th wonder of the world is your body
Your blood is the only flag you should shoulder,
the only flesh to be patriotic of.

You owe no loyalty to your birthplace

You owe no loyalty to repression.

Vortex

by Jeremiah Walton

Woodshift helix burn holes

plushy pink mind landscape aflame

Shoe in the head

coherent thought stomped

Weak cohesive glue psyche together

Only for Now, but this Now is much too eternal!

Self induced seizures, rattling subjective beads of group

moral

Who's bad trip is tripping up who?

Sleep sleep sleep

Sheep bark stripping naked refusing their numbers

Rearing the farmer's sheers in revolution

Revolt! Revolt! Revolt!

Cut and twist brain cells into knots of understanding

Misunderstanding! Our God-head is beheaded!

Guillotined shoulders bleed cries of eternity, farts of

existence, sputter of the asshole mouth

Teenagers deep in perception Armageddon

"Please, dear writer, write my final thoughts...

I know what is happening... This is our end..."

I feel the Great Sleep riding in from Edge-City

Driven by spiritual spinal chord

We've stayed too long

The end will never end

When was the beginning?

The room spliced in Red and Blue

Contrary counterparts

Red TV senses bombardment, gushing inwards

background thought’s vocal chords warn of calamity

Light or dark? heavy light switch pendulum flicks

bbbbaaaccckkk aaannnddd !fooorrrttthh

lost in the updown bounce of lunatic laughter

Why is he rolling along the carpet’s erect hair? Cutting

patterns, laughing laughing laughing

Who's looking in the mirror now?

Make sure they leave the knife upstairs

"DO NOT GO OUTSIDE THE WORLD IS HUNGRY"

Fire of breath couples up within our lungs

We are burning alive, gasoline baking dough expecting

sweet bread

Every Thought born panics into death

Chairs wiggle wobble dance

showing unity of what?

Unity of new reality and old, space and time perception

stretched before in white holes vomiting existence

upon our outstretched tongues and cheeks

We are dying in the basement of Existence

Mother upstairs unAware

Psilocybin

by Jeremiah Walton

Reject all the material barriers to participate in

Ultra-Destruction of Self

Self is beautiful, destroy it!

Legions of small insects dream of sheep pestering flesh,

bugnails creep eyes open

You're forced to watch The Movie of your reality, being able

to react upon each curtain’s fall

1/30th of a second quickest time, hurry!

Self is awake

The temporary insanity of Loves must sleep

Love for material, love for people, love for highs,

love for Love

A void must be built within Self to destroy Self

To be conscious in the womb, a glorious death sweet as

pomegranates stuck between the skin of teeth

Zippers of flesh are opened to bleed freely along the eternal

mindscape of Consciousness

Physical body is not conscious, meat temple for "I"

What are you seeking crying philosopher?

Why are you trying to be sooo God damn Zen?

Magnificent walls, squirming murals around your

breathing bulge

What tales of you to tell?

Share your secrets!

The sobbing philosopher slits his wrists in geometric

patterns, and chases destruction lovingly,

entertained by the ominous lights of progression

rusting the horizon

Babble of idiots chase his giggling robes

Fire bomb thoughts quest for elusive truth, fingers slipping

down wet slides of authentic flesh

Each tip bawling love me! love me! love me!

Betray the destruction and rebirth of Self!

Abandon your quest! Lie and love me!

Weeping on sodden type writers, the archaic thinkers of

beautiful present are consumed by the universal poem

Organic truth is eternity

Discover me!

I've merged with the eternal, saliva of

God wets my eye lids

Thick ageless flesh encase the meat encasing my skeleton

encasing potential soul

Languid spine of man is malleable,

Osteopaths of Eternity's fingers direct bone molds, suit

cases for the truth-seeker

Star glazed eyes bellow "keep away!" darting into recesses

of Manchester

The evils of Brown Ave need to be contemplated, loved,

hated, understood in essence, unexplainable terms of

seekers!

Seeking Holy oasis from the feverish socializers and lovers

and pleasure fondlers and innocence seducers

Soda crackle fizz of midnight along the highway pops, the

singing monologues of droning robots

O' great philosopher!

Reject the trivialities! Cry over nothing rather sob over

trivialities!

Thoughts corrugated, rough surface to trespass, tripping

High with Self, high with Ultra-Destruction

High, I see God in the eyeblink of eternity,

and screech WHY

Faces in trees gnaw on thought-bones and,

only answer WHY

My pockets hold no answers and,

only answer WHY

The evils hold no answer and only answer

WHY

No thing truly matters, bury the heart, the ranting of

fanatical-desire must be dispelled

We need need need need need!

A truly beautiful destroyed Self does not!

A truly beautiful destroyed Self is a babe opening his eyes

to watch the creations of lead on paper for the first

time, and

wonder wonder wonder!

A nose is born!

Then eyes!

Then lips!

Then ears!

O' vast world, how is this so?

Programming has yet to circuit in his mindscape! Yet to

be infused with barriers of social living, with desire

filters for acceptance, with love for love, with rejection

of acoustic heartfelt squawking of Self!

His well of thought is deep and pure to gulp

The steady drip of human experience has yet to dry the

faucet of the mind to a trickle

This babe, this beautiful individual, a waterfall of

understanding and Holy thought!

Not yet a dribble of security, of mindless human Self

Not yet a reflection of wired Mirrors