[Alternate Route]

#2, Spring 2021

®© Alternate Route, 2021

ISSN 2767-0317

Spring 2021 (Date of issue: April 30th)

Editor: Michael Starr

Cover Art: Michael Starr

Contributors: CJ Delous (CJ), Michael Starr (MS), Elancharan Gunasekaran (EG), Afzal Sajjad Zafir (ASZ)

This periodical proudly produced without institutional funding.

For contributions, please see our Patreon at <https://www.patreon.com/alternate_route> or twitter at @AlternateRoute and send submissions to AlternateRoute.zine@gmail.com.

Free-of-charge. Patronage is gladly accepted at our Patreon listed above.

Published in California.

Likenesses and similarities to any person, peoples, place, or institution past or present are purely coincidental and do not suggest identity or reference.

Table of Contents

Writing

CJ

Twisted Nostalgia

Past//Present//Future

Ocean Eyes

Master<>Slave

MS

Of Other Days and Other Stays

Stay With Me

Our Home

Of Mattering Less, My Mind

A Chaotic Cocktail Fresh, No Doubt

Exam

Fleeting

EG

distant darkness

space time

soft blow

orbit

lighter

fracture reality

ASZ

Countryside

The Rage

An Unfinished Poem

The Blank Page

The Observant

Twisted Nostalgia

CJ

Do you remember the faces

of all those abandoned buildings,

mocking us

like a metaphor we wanted but could never touch?

& so how we turned to punk & the band that

turned to shit

because we fucked up by being too fucked up

on speed, weed, drink &

the fear

of the stage we were too afraid to admit?

Sometimes,

I miss those days:

there’s a freedom in nihilism

so often forgotten or ignored;

nothing hurts those who believe in nothing

& care only for the comfort of pleasure.

The last man

cannot be turned back after walking the path

for too long.

That place was a contusion upon

the surface of the earth & we

were the worms

crawling

in the dirt…

but at least we weren’t alone.

Somehow,

together we created a nostalgia

I can still feel,

& as our mistakes drift away,

one day,

maybe they

will join the birds

who will sing for us instead.

Past//Present//Future

CJ

Each anticipated day arrives &

elides into the past,

as we wait,

again,

but for what?

How long will it take

for the pattern to change?

When will the cycle end?

With no past the future

becomes a desert &

the desert grows,

surrounding us

like the slow

creeping

of midnight mist…

with no future

the present becomes a test

you will fail unless

you refuse

to fight against

the meaninglessness

& dance instead

with the

absurdity.

So,

dance with me?

Ocean Eyes

CJ

With your tongue in my mouth

you try to tease out

the secret of my silence,

but I keep it hidden

like

a garden

full of dead

& dying

flowers.

With your tongue in your mouth

you make sounds

that unfold my rib cage, take

each strange organ

in your hands &

show me that

bones need not be broken

to be open.

Somehow,

in the blue reflection of your ocean

eyes, the poison in these organs

rise like vapour to the sky;

somehow,

that ocean brings me back to life.

So let me in

& see

if I will sink

or swim.

Master<>Slave

CJ

The Slaves hate the Masters &

themselves.

The Masters hate both & everything else.

A glacial surface is crawling across

our collective imagination,

while the world burns

waiting

to destroy civilisation.

When we stare into mirrors or

out of windows every day,

do we admire or look away?

Do we know that what we see is only

one more object

consumed

& constituted

by an infinite sea of others?

Do we feel the horror of that

brief tremor

beyond the horizon of thought;

a something that is nothing

at all,

&

when we chose to avert our gaze,

to pretend that everything will remain

the same;

when we shatter the mirror & the shards

dig deep into our hands,

will we realise that

we have no one to blame but ourselves?

Of Other Days and Other Stays

MS

Pretentious wretch she was, she

loathed me

in the waves like a tug of the tug boat drowning our second, third, fourth, fifth, …

child, cradled me

when there was nothing left but powdered bone and ashen hair,

killed me

as if I were the only one she thought to penetrate, with her words, her eyes, her noose.

One in a dozen dimes is misprinted

she says

and I believe her, in another way, in some other idea, where

they wanted to have a go

at it

at her

at the stage and

at the mountainous, murderous cacophony of musical talent that was destroyed when the bomb fell on that town in the valley between the rivers in our heart.

I miss those days, too.

Stay With Me

MS

Show me light

Show me your eyes, the crystalline gems of a love from wartorn eras

The demons inside, in a weary traveler

Your heartbeat warm and gentle

Still, against a stranger wind

No winter passed without slipping on ice

And a hill to climb and return

Every evening

When the sun sets

Show me your gracious manners

And a smile that gives me hope

When we were younger we held hands

And I remember what you said

That we would remember each other a thousand lives to come

That the crushing void of space could not undo our friendship

I miss those days, but I see past it

To the home you have found

With the Earth, with the stars, and in my heart forever

Our Home

MS

Our land our home our God-given right to dethrone

Our brothers our gold our light our soul

Then the darkness the plague the filth

The greed the mourning the guilt

I stay in line with the mothers who sway

No other style than living to stay

To this day

No other way

It is wrought of grit and no other than merit

But I stick to the grind and leave when it's cruel

I send message to senders

Give in to lenders

Back-benders

For I am weak

Weaker to the day

Don't find the transition odd

There are others in disarray

What we need is a real God

What we need is a job that cares and catches us

When we fall when we die when we lose when we give up

Because what are the failures but momentary lapses in an eternal voyage

The rock hurtling through space likes its panoply

Or so we tell ourselves

So some give and some dance in glee

There are no other places to delve

It is with great depression that I say

The moment has come, we must find the courage to stay

Today

Of Mattering Less, My Mind

MS

This placidity of thought in my ingrate mind lends itself

To less than a shallow light

I am not less than this

I seek grace in the loftiest of places and know no other direction

It is hate, it is hate

There are others, in direction of place

That know how to go about the weight of a burden

So many placed upon

But leavening and lightening undertow does no moral justice

Other than an equalization of infamy

So stir with me, so stir with me

We eat this bread, of life and blood

And spill each other like cupboard juice gin down the stairs

There are things I would like to tell you with time

But you are not there for me

Because you do not care

Seal the deal and be with fame and fortune

One hop gets you to the next island

Ten wins the war

There are too many dogs here to feed the homeless

So why not stray into the jungle and start anew

A fresh stance on lightness won't be undertaken without quandary

So it is standard

That you know

But we hate, but we hate

And there are more

And that is just the beginning

To the dear ants: Be with the people you love

And in the finding of them you will find yourself

If no success then no matter

You mattered less anyway

A Chaotic Cocktail Fresh, No Doubt

MS

So fresh

Like the lemon in my eye

Like the pigs in the stye

A guerilla in disguise

Some later straying off the beaten path

All aboard the Chaos

Control your tempo and breathe

In-Out-In-Out-In-Out...

All my memories barfed out for you

The partners in the pantry

Raiding the bank and disrupting the motion

Of a time forgotten, defunct, and decrepit

Titillating tango for two

No ropes to hang by

Just jest and tomfoolery

Be with me

Be the best you can be

Send the senders their final send-off

Go away, leaves of the Northern autumn

Vinyl in the living room

And a cocktail with a straw

Salt, marsh, marmalade

Little is made, little is done

But won, again, and won some more

Splits equal

Lore has it, they went inside and underground

Lately, the spittle from my nose is dry

Make no doubt: We have our sights set on you too

Exam

MS

When I see that there are

Memories in forgiving spots of

The spotted hills,

Dug-up fecal stains on your

Eyes and shirt, give me

Your mouth's last drop of

Saliva,

Send me to the morgue to

Pull out the bones from her

Grave

And let me feel that

Last gut wrench underground.

The scent of maneuer for the

Flowers to grow with the

Idea that freedom sinks to the

Bottom trophic layer wilts

Timelessly is

Nice, y'know, but it won't

Cut it in class.

Fleeting

MS

I've never been one to contemplate the future. And now that I contemplate the past, I find this a strange thing. Don't most people wonder where they will be in 5, 10 years? Or is it more common these days to be overwhelmed with tasks and to-do's to the point that you can't plan what's going to happen next weekend, let alone years from now?

Of course my father has lost his keys again. He always does that. He grew up a strange person, parenting me. Not alone, obviously, he abused his wife verbally and emotionally until there were no more emotions to abuse. That is, she doesn't really love him, but she cares about his safety / well-being. But this is a side-track. What I mean to say is: His memory has been slipping, particularly with keys. Almost exclusively with keys. But mom says he exhibits some other strange behaviors, such as not being able to finish one activity before starting the next one, right in front of her eyes. He'll be fussing with his hands, handling something, and then I or mother will say something, or he'll get a phone call, and stop what he's doing and never come back to it. We worry about him. He (most definitely) developed an undiagnosed schizotypal mental illness approximately fifteen years ago, when I was in middle to high school. The things I cared about back then seem so distant now. I remember vividly being worried about, in Senior year, the appearance I would make by letting my friends see the outside of the apartment I lived in with my family (sized five). It seems so inconsequential now. Father's lost his marbles, I've grown wiser. But neither of us really thinks about the future.

He's in his mid-60's, so I don't know, really, what it's like to think about your future at that age. I'm in my early 30's. I feel as if I've failed and have no solace or reprieve coming—ever--and it's stupid, objectively. I have to remove myself from myself to berate myself for being so blind. There is so much time to do things you love, to meet people you love, to go places you love. I don't know if... well, I've always had an awkwardness when talking about the great beyond that takes us when we are no more. The blackness. You know what I'm talking about. Mortality. I don't know if that starts to scare you at my father's age and almost scare you at my mother's younger age. Or if you keep planning. When does it seem like there's a cutoff, both emotionally and pragmatically, to that which can be achieved by your mortal self? It's unfair that we all have limited time. When I think of mortality I mostly think of the fear. Panic. I've gotten less cool as I've aged, developed my own (diagnosed) schizotypal disorder. Panic attacks have happened. I know what fear tastes like now. And mortality brings it forth in me.

The noise from my laptop (read: music) hits beats and blares synths that motivate me, to, to, to... what, exactly? Feeling motivated is great but what do you do with it when it strikes? I've found that self-improvement, or self-expression, are both excellent choices.

But me, I always go for the easy way out. I troll Twitter. Not literally, but I do browse too much. I watch streams on Twitch, probably less cognitively engaging than Twitch.

My friend wished me a hasty recovery from my whatever/sore-throat illness as he bid me farewell upon our conclusion not to go for a mutual outing today. It would've been for photography.

I always feel so trampled. I don't know if that is a literal fact or an abstract conundrum my brain is still messin' with, but it's hard to differentiate.

Ridiculous to even think that.

My lower back and hamstring muscles are sore, too, from lifting wood panels to assemble a bookshelf with my mother for myself yesterday. It was quite the ordeal.

I say these things knowing... what, exactly? That I look for the easy way out, knowingly, that I look for a simple life. That hard work comes wrapped in pretty bow ties but that I still wretch at the sight of it. Reading, studying, playing music—it is most taxing to partake of these activities, for myself. And so, more often than not, I don't.

Why am I saying this? I don't really know. I came here with a good idea and I'm ruining it by giving you my daily news.

I guess what I mean to say is: If there is time to accomplish everything, how much, how much dearly, will be wasted by my avoiding the work required to get it done?

I'm on my first day of no nicotine patch. I was supposed to be on step 3, 7 mg/day, down from step 2, 14 mg/day, but I didn't realize I hadn't yet ordered the patches for step 3 from my health insurance provider. So I'll have to wait 3 days. I might have one or two step 2 patches remaining but, oddly enough, I don't really feel cravings for nicotine or lozenges or anything, so maybe I'll just leave it like this.

Maybe I'll just leave it like this.

Only...

After falling asleep for a few hours, which my mother said I shouldn't have done because she doesn't want me to stay awake late tonight because I have work in-lab for the first time tomorrow, she found an extra two boxes of Step 3 patches, not from my health insurance provider but that I had purchased myself at an earlier date. I got out of bed, out from my face-down position on top of the covers, and went to the bathroom and put on a patch. I stayed awake.

Now I am here. Thank you mother. Thank you for I am awake now.

And now I think thoughts, and forget them, and (hopefully) remember them. But what does it matter how many are forgotten, in the end? Maybe it's a unidirectional stream, after all?

And as she assaults me with questions about my sore throat, incessant witch, out of love I suppose, I barely can conjure any thoughts. The words, like gnats, pester me and I am unable to focus.

What was I going to say, to do, again?

Fleeting thoughts.

It was good. I promise it was good.

distant darkness

empty shell of flesh

floats in limbo

space time

space time debating the fracture of reality

soft blow

soma

thin lips spread

orbit

orbit of black hole no reason no light

lighter

lighter neon flame oblivion erasing matter

fracture reality

a door

in nothingness

Countryside

ASZ

I live in a village

Far from rest of world

In childhood, when i saw

Smokes of Rocket in sky

I wonder above us, lives our friend

I used to wander in green fields,

I loved to lose myself

In embrace of nature

I often went to the Graveyard

Aside it was a temple

A unique place for us

In Graveyard, Muslims

bury their loved ones

Aside, Hindus chant their prayers

A soul gained salvation

On other side

Some praying for salvation

The amazing correlation

Between two great civilisation

The Rage

ASZ

In the age of injustice,

In the times of oppressors,

In the reign of criminals,

Justice is rare.

Dark is the new Fair !

Truth dims,

And lies glare.

All we share,

Is torment and pain.

The Sons of Cain,

The inane and insane,

The profane and inhumane,

Stomping the fragile morality.

Desecrating the sanctity of the world.

An Unfinished Poem

ASZ

Years ago,

I tried to put together

Some words.

That could make sense.

Hence, i wrote my

Unfinished poem.

I tried to finish it,

But none words did justice

To my poem.

I wrote 'Truth' and 'Justice '

In the first stanza.

People made fun of me.

They said i copied an old

Scripture.

The Blank Page

ASZ

I tried to write something

Beautiful and meaningful.

Later i realised, beauty

Doesn't relate with meaning.

And meaning is not

Always beautiful.

I thought to write about the truth.

Oh, but i can not tell,

How I pay to publish my poem.

Love! It's easy to write about it.

But wait why I'm hating to write on it.

Let me criticize 'Greed'.

I will write a poem like Rumi,

As I want to be a published poet.

Oh Dear me!

I'm not pure to write any of it.

Let me think, why I need to write.

For nothing.

Why i should pollute,

This beautiful blank page.

The Observant

ASZ

I don't have tongue,

I'm not deaf just dumb.

All I have is two dark eyes.

I don't speak, just gaze.

My existence is unnoticed.

Yet I know much about life.

The truth and lie.

I know you think

I'm just a stupid guy

Timid and shy.

Oh my dear, i don't care

What you think about me.

Someone else opinion

Doesn't change me.

Life is to be lived.

Enjoy the serenity of the ocean.

Play with moving wind,

Yet be aware of

Cunning humans.

Table of Contents

Cover

[Alternate Route]

®© Alternate Route, 2021

Table of Contents

Twisted Nostalgia

Past//Present//Future

Ocean Eyes

Master<>Slave

Of Other Days and Other Stays

Stay With Me

Our Home

Of Mattering Less, My Mind

A Chaotic Cocktail Fresh, No Doubt

Exam

Fleeting

distant darkness

space time

soft blow

orbit

lighter

fracture reality

Countryside

The Rage

An Unfinished Poem

The Blank Page

The Observant