Animal's House of Muse

Vibes to Feed the Hasty Soul with the States of All that Matters

Category: Uncategorized

Lizard Brain in Memoriam

Every philosopher’s deepest motivation is a chance at unbridled exploration of the unknown. To traverse fresh terrain; to touch unspoiled promise; to know what nobody else has ever known before – that’s what’s good. But what invariably results from such pursuits is the realization of what everybody else, what all of nature, already knew all along: that what’s known can’t be undone and what’s unknown is never done in the first place. Damn it all.


Copyright Keli Birchfield 2021


A Thought Flung Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

In so many ways, I’m hungry. But I’m not distraught. I’m alive. I desire. And that is natural. I’m alright.

Poverty will get the best of you, if you let it. But as long as you use its effects to validate your humanity, a cool head will prevail over circumstance. And you’ll live to eat again.

My reason is pure, in that it’s wild. I’m an animal. And so I thrive in discomfort. May I destroy any thought that indicates otherwise.

May my words always represent the reality of chaos, which always eludes evaluation. To know them is to express them. To know me is to dissolve like clouds unto the ground.

Come feast with me. I have nothing. It’s delicious; tastes like hot sauce and finger sweat. It tastes like life – divine.

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Yeah, But, Pythagoras, I’m an American!

As big a fan of base ten as I am, walking a mile in someone else’s shoes sounds much more appealing than walking 1.609 kilometers in someone else’s shoes.

The natural sciences may certainly have their standards, but without natural language there’d be no End to their measures. And without an End, what is science?

Call me colloquial, if you wish. There’s always a better word for it, so long as Reason perdures. I’ll await my turn to know with precision. I prefer the life-world, anyway.

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Oh Would You Look at This, I’ve Dropped an Ontological Rung or Two

Reality can't touch you whenever you're writing a textbook
Nothing can!
But reality cannot
And that's why textbooks are so hard to finish -
The damn things need to exist

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There Have Been Many Times in My Life

I’ve felt instances of Beauty so close in Her resemblance 
I could hardly stand Her presence
I fell to my knees and blew chunks everywhere
And perhaps soiled my pants a bit
I don’t know; It was hard to tell
With the existential status of the material world deflating, as it were

I’m an illustrated woman
Permanently marked, as such times my life would define
The rhythms of my inner sense generations
And . . . if you look closely enough . . .
Whilst I sit still for long enough 
Those markings *will* spontaneously dance

To the beat of their original becoming, yes!
Revealing the taxonomy of circumstances
Which bear the weight of Beauty, proper
In Her fullest glory
Universally predicated upon no judgment, at all 


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February: An Injunction

Divine excess is the most unnecessary determination of reason

And yet purpose sustains it whenever conditions suddenly become hypothetical

A complete breakdown in substance, fragmented along the same propositions once holding it together,

And geometry is now a matter of life or death? – This is quite literally a nonsensical state of affairs; I only wish it were irreal!

In the meanwhile, as the eternal awaits its own recurrence, I’ll at least enjoy the phantasms projected on the walls

Copyright Keli Birchfield 2021

Confessions of One Who Once Called Upon Mercy

I came to Carthage
And I painted its roses red
Slapped them betches up real nice with a wide brush;
Petals dripping wet for days

I came to Carthage
And I predicated its eternals upon particulars,
Its properties upon accidentals;
My magnetism felling every single one of its components into fission

I came to Carthage
And I straight wrecked up the place;
Its substance learning the true meaning of extension:
My ultimate perdurance through time

Carthage came.
And I have only you to thank for that, my lord;
From whom and by whom and in whom all things are.
So it is, lord, so it is . . .
Who can possess anything at all which is not already yours?



Thanks to St. Augustine for the direct quotes, Milton and Lewis Carroll for the divine and comedic inspiration, and the Western philosophical canon for the metaphysical metaphors.

Augustine. (2007). Confessions. M. Vessey, Trans.; New York: Barnes & Noble Books.


Copyright Keli Birchfield 2021

I Forgot Why I Even Came Down Here

My tranquil place is a damp, dingy basement
Dimly lit by lengths of moonbeams
Writhing through its clouded storm windows
Bouncing from dust particle to dust particle
Circulating so until they illuminate
Specs of old ass paint barely hanging onto
The wood paneling lining its cold walls
With a single, bloated fly buzzing about
Broodily beckoning me to ponder
Over how it is any of us come to choose
The room in which we’ll eventually die
And why it is we play at escaping
Into whatever ply of light left available
As our eyes cease to receive it

For whom do we put on that show?
The creep who enjoys wandering aimlessly
Into damp, dingy basements?
Whose pages of depressed scribblings would
At best serve as Kierkegaard’s toilet paper?
Who immediately separates into a figment
Of their own imagination upon catching
Even the slightest whiff of contained decay?

Still, I impress myself when I’m in my tranquil place
Though I will nothing in particular there
I fly through substance, all the same
Darting about from one wall to another
Back and forth; back and forth; back and forth
Feigning agitation at the stress of the air –
But a mere moist becoming beneath my wings
Its weight meaningless, no matter where I land Read the rest of this entry »

It, Alone

This is clearly a new moment
My mind is clear as day
And though it stretches out as long
And far as my eyes can see
I can fathom its depths
Clear ends have left imprints
So heavy and dark
That this light will forever
Be bound by them
And purpose must be
The standard for my action 
If I am not to lose myself
In all the possibility 
Their interplay occasions
I hope you'll stay
Even though I'm crazy
I hope you'll stay
Even though stillness
Never really is what it seems, with me
Because this light is love
And it's warm
And I want to share it without condition




Copyright Keli Birchfield 2020

Of Free Fall and Free Markets

Nutrients don't become me 
Neither do fine clothes 
My essence craves attention 
So I grasp and gasp, unsold 
A substance filled of fairies 
Nothing - quite composed 
Thin air and vain compulsion 
My favorite wares unfold 
Ever lasts 
Which ever asks 
In exchange -
Their repose
Just positions
Rates apply, 
So it goes
Yes, agreed
A fair, signed deed
A quick swell
Quick to slow
Inside, a surcharge hides
Lost in fine print's leer
My dear!
With such standards, here
Any fool's 
A wonder
I suppose

Copyright Keli Birchfield 2020