#91

a couple new things. also updated one of the poems in the previous post to try and clarify my intentions a bit.

[12.09.2020 & 12.16.2020]

emotional limp

my solution to a sprained ankle
is to amputate the entire limb

with no thought for how
i'll stand myself
down the road

[12.16.2020]

Fuck Walt Disney

stuck with ideas of fairytale romance

though i know she's not a princess
...even if i can't stop being a monster:
weird, gross, selfish, and self-pitying

i couldn't "save her" even if
i felt like that was something
that needed doing
(or ever did)

and here
locked in my tower
i know she doesn't owe me anything
and i wouldn't deserve it anyway
because i'm the dumb beast
holding the fucking key

(all that being said

i hope he turns out to be

her prince charming)

---------------

"i am a writer, a writer of fictions (here's one i've told myself):
'i am the heart that you call home'

and i've written pages upon pages

trying to rid those fictions (not you) from my bones"

"i have been unable to maintain any semblance of relationship on any level

i have been acutely undeserving of the ear that listen up and lip that kiss me on the temple"

#90

Two lines and a real thing and then a bunch of rambly shit I don't understand (but still wish I wrote) that I variously pulled from the second section of The Age of Wire and String by Ben Marcus

[10.13.2019]

I used to think being willing to die for a cause was enough

But now I think you might need to actually fight for it

[10.03.2020 & 12.16.2020]

two raptors

flew overhead

and as i stood

thinking of her

and how i'm not there

(and someone else is)

            ((and he should be))

a third followed behind

and that could mean

so many things

a moment

bursting with symbolism

...but you fucking figure it out

(and by "you" i mean anyone

tell me what it means

please

because i can't make up my mind

about anything these days)

---------------

The Age of Wire and String: GOD

BIRD TO THE NORTH, ACT OF WIND

God rides bird to the north, act of wind implemented against the stationary position of most oceans. Certain weather is not recognized by the land it is practiced on; funnel clouds necessarily unravel or bank off any crusted terrain, hailstones and other atmospheric shale burn into water before the city receives them, whole temperate zones dissipate over a lake and suck upward. The act of riding procures a medical wind to heal these stagnations. The lark, the griffin, and the mallard, all birds of indeterminate temperature and vapor content, function as ignitors of the tide. For a ripple to spool downwind unobstructed, it must be set into force by the proper god riding above, often laced into the fur of a low-flying bird. What happens here is the beating of air into a still surface, the jostle-weave of the bird twisting off the new waves, and the swoop of the weather behind it as the plumage of the carrier ignites and recedes off the god-channeler's hands, dispatched with a blessing to unfurl and storm above the new-moving ocean.

TERMS

WEATHER BIRTHING - 4. Whispering while holding birds in the mouth.

HEAVEN - Area of final containment. It is modeled after the first house. It may be hooked and slid and shifted. The bottom may be sawed through. Members inside stare outward and sometimes reach.

LIVING, THE - Those members, persons, and items that still appear to engage their hands into what is hot, what is rubbery, what cannot be seen or lifted.

RARE WATERS, THE - Series of liquids containing samples of the first water. It is the only water not yet killed. It rims the eyes, falls from them during certain times, and collects at the feet, averting the grasp of hands, which are dry, and need it.

#89

[c. July 2020]

i swear i haven't changed

in thirty years

still just a sad awkward kid

with a perpertually nervous stomach

clinging to the same teddy bear

a breaking rock

against the waves of despair

[07.29.20 & 09.14.20]

calhoun

circling the lake post-midnight

scream-crying from fear and heartache

so close and so far

and i realize now

a decade-plus on

(though it may be under

the lake's false name)

part of me is circling still

...and i'd give anything to make it

halt

for everyone's sake

---------------

"i wish we'd never met, then met today"

#88

disconnected ranty lines, a couple real things, and another thing i wish i'd written

[07.28.20]

Things get worse or

better or they stay the

same

But my exhaustion

always grows

endless days

taunted by angels

mocked by desert Sun

skin blistered

peeled back to reveal

the wireframe beneath

NPC'd automaton

drifting

[07.29.20]

Discordian Gatsby

what does it

symbolize when you

eat cold fried chicken

alone at a kitchen

counter while the

world crumbles

around you

    (fine,

    i had a couple

    bunless bratwurst

    too)

[07.31.20]

a reply to S—

beneath the flat horizon of my gaze

    a roiling ocean of tears

    always threatening

    to overwhelm

---------------

"Crying a single gigantic tear that is the combined tears of never crying and it comes on with the feeling of a sneeze and caves your head in and you feel normal, but not for that long.

Just long enough to know it wasn't real.

Which means on to new problems.

Which means don't tell me too much because I already care.

Which means I'm dying I'm dying I'm dying.

Growing a single horn on top of your head to begin the digging.

Which means on to new problems."

~Sam Pink, "Your Glass Head Against the Brick Parade of Now Whats"

#87

a thing i wrote and two things i didn't but wish i had


[c. 01.2020 + 07.10.2020 + 07.29.2020]

hiraeth

Been thinking, "I just
want to go home," a lot
lately
Except I never leave
the house

Smash my face into a
cactus just to feel
something different
Only to find every
needle is inscribed
with the name of a
place I'll never see
again
(and may never have
truthfully known
to begin with)

---------------

"He ate with his face and spoke with it. Sometimes he hid it in his hands. That should have been enough." ~ Ben Marcus

---------------




I manage my fantasy baseball team better
than I manage my anger these days,
and I’d trade my best pitcher
for a draft-pick and picture
of the president writhing in pain.
It’s a weird thing to wish for
but I can’t stop wishing,
refreshing the browser, someday
if I live long enough
and the world doesn’t end
my wish will come true, in a way,
and he’ll die like we all die,
in pain or asleep,
and we’ll still have our fantasy baseball,
and the next fascist fucker in line for the job
of demolishing hope for us all.
So I’m putting in love now,
I’m putting in faith,
putting fear on a long-term IL.
I’m going outside,
I’m going to help organize
something better.
Something beautiful.