Down on my luck
All out of fucks
Just want to be near
Not wonder at fear
But I’m lost in the muck
This dire deeds struck
Wanting solutions
When all you have are vacations
As if those few days
Can compensate for the daze
Of holding out hope
In this country of nope
Just watch it all crumble
Wishing I wasn’t lost in the rubble
We’re in all kinds of trouble
And what do we have but the rumble
A last chance to be free
Just wanted to be happy
Poems
Between Sunday and Monday
I feel as if we are in that twilight time between life and death
A hung moon and night’s waning
That gray time in dark of night
When you are simultaneously aware of the coming sun and unsure that you will make it alive till then
Because this ends
One way or another
In hope, soon
Though long held pessimism says likely not
And we will plunge into deeper night
But even that will end
There is a hopeful fatalism in endings
At every end there is a moment of doubt
Right before something new begins
If darkness should fall
Remember
That’s just one ending
And what begins now is a choice we make together
As it ever was
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Toothache Twilight
Sometimes can’t help but think
These circular thoughts
Swirl and rebound
Each feeds each other
Grow tired
Slow and stop
Traverse of high to low
Normal to be this exhausted?
Firm softness
Bed and pillow
Semi darkness sirens call
Always this background hum
Feeling the approaching wave
Too late to stop it
And the sudden realization
The surfacing of the thought winner
The chum frenzy
Oh, right
That explains it
That behavior switch
Depression
That old liar
Wish you’d stayed away
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Feeling the pulse
I look at the wind blowing leaves across the ground
Caught in the quiet seconds of beauty
Noting the fluid interplay between strength and seemingly passive forces
Gravity
Thermals pushing up against the air
The fluid aerodynamics of the push and pull
The sound of flutter and howl of deep wind
These alone moments
Where despair and epiphany take root
Heartbeat sounds heavy
In these long moments
Facing across the chasm of distance
And the hope of soon
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A shadow play for the wicked
Time fires an arbalest
Year by year the pain grows the lesser
Though instead of sharp
We find the dull ache of loss
And the fading taste of the world
This destruction which once stole away years
Now lasts a long morning but still
It never fades completely
Even as every memory but the pain leaves
As if what was belonged to another me
Who has since passed away
Faded in the firelight
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Monetization of the human soul
I totally wish I was asleep right now
Huddle in a blanket
A little too warm but oblivious because I am about to be oblivious
I completely get why I’m not
I have to get up
I have to get ready for work
So that they keep paying me
So that I can pay bills
So that the lights stay on
So I can live in a house
Not the street
So that I can eat today and tomorrow
So that my health doesn’t deteriorate faster
And that’s completely why I want to be asleep
Because that
Is bullshit
I have to go to work
So that I don’t die
So that my living conditions don’t devolve
Because there is no basic human state of living
Which our society would support
No level at which safety is guaranteed
There is either working poor
Or super rich
If you stopped working today
How long would it be before you were homeless?
Before you couldn’t eat?
Before this level of belief that you are doing well deteriorates?
Not long
For most of us, not even a paycheck
For many of us
Less than that
The people who have somehow made enough money that they have other streams of income
Many of which are dependent on you going to that job every day
They last longer
But eventually we all fall
And who is left?
The ones who accumulated so much personal wealth that they are themselves nation-states. They personally employ so many people, that their lives are safe…for longer.
But the system is collapsing
In slow motion perhaps
But it’s falling
Because we created tools which influence human weakness on a vast scale
And gave those tools to whoever had any amount of money.
I finally see how the world of Anathem(Neal Stephenson’s book) comes about
How worlds fall and are reborn
But we don’t have a system in place to reboot us
We’ll fall into barbarism
And we’ll pay for the privilege
And the ones with the money will last longer
But when the structure crumbles
The towers fall eventually
But still
I have to go to work
Because I’m not paid to see and speak truth
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That moment before the tuning fork stops
We do a lot of things to make sure we aren’t left in silence
Silence which fills us
Or leaves us stranded in echos
We watch TV or Twitch
We listen to music, but shy away from the sounds which will evoke emotions
We play games
We work
Anything and everything to fall asleep exhausted
Another day passed by
Not thinking
Sometimes the frenzy is a good thing
Keeping us from repeating bad choices
But still
That silence cannot be run from forever
And we find ourselves trapped by memories
Or lies our brains tell us
Or what society wants from us
Or
Or
Or
But
The silence is not the enemy
It’s just the space where we get the time to just be
And all that else comes crashing down and drowns us
Because we dam it away
Hold it outside of ourselves
Until handling it becomes drowning in a sea of discordancy
So we run
We run and hide
It’s why writers and poets drink
Because we are the sanity impaired who seek out the quiet
It’s the only place we get a chance to see
And eventually we walk in less water
And eventually we sit at low ebb
And we lament not drowning, because we installed a safety valve
But we remember
We see
We know that quiet
The best of us are guides
The rest refugees
But still,
Take a moment with your silence
It only wants you to see
If only some things could not be unseen
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Floating in the too wide ocean
End of day
Tired and aching
Arm radiates pain
Slow down
Molten glass
Past progress
Ideas from the times before
Playlist? Or poetry
Whichever costs the lesser
Each word pulled out
Leaving exhaustion to funnel echos
Too loud
Too quiet
Sleep weighs heavy
Uncomfortable but fading in the dubious comfort of the office
Bed calls out
But people there
Too loud, too much
And wanting aches just fading
Into frantic dream
Lost in these moments
Without
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Lilting echo in fading light
Eyes close
Mini dreams where we sit in the quiet afternoon
Alone but for thoughts of each other
Wake startled
Again and again
Like stop motion fantasies
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If you know, you know
They sound so sincere
So confused by what’s happening
Trying to make sense of something which runs contrary to the lies they’ve believed their entire lives
They watch footage
They read transcripts
But as soon as someone tells them a happy lie
One that clicks with their fiction based reality
They say, “Oh really?”
And they sigh
Letting out the tension from the cognitive dissonance between reality and the false narrative that they hide in
“I didn’t know that,” they say
“That makes sense,” relief palpable in their voice.
Fucking white people
Pelgris 