13.09.017

The fire of the Earth burns in your eyes,
A deep, smoldering brown.
Hurt, too, is shut away behind the fire, though it bleeds out all the same,
Encountering nothing from me but oblivion.
I am so stupid and thick to recoil, neither flame nor pain seen without Time's passing.

I am a star, burning cold in the great vacuum of space.
The warmth of your terra firma reaches me too late;
The spectrum of my response, celestial coronal flares— mass ejections—
Is a window to your past.

Onward. We pine for distant heavenly bodies,
Forever immersed in our own nebulae.
The comets have such a space to cross.
Such coldness, forgetfulness.

21.03.017

Your faces have changed so much over time.

Your eyes,
your stature,
cadences of speech:

you've many bodies,
each replete with its own sorrows and sins.
Such is existence, such are beings human.

And our children:

they flicker in and out, jumping universes
with our every bodily shucking,
each changing of the guard;

upon us, limits imposed: jail-cell
flesh, flesh
cellularly-composed,

tissues besot by:

hologramspacetime;
aguey feverdreams;
conscious human minds;

false chaos in loving blackness;
pyritic order 'midst nonsensical din;
there is no meaning outside all of this.

26.03.017

Lovelace, pronounced "loveless"
Beyond stasis
Lowest blood-oxygen concentration ever seen
Won't fucking stop justifying her bad drinking habits
Vomiting at 28
Bald, like an infant
Just as helpless
She's still talking about herself, the same as ever
Paralysis on the couch
Inaction, the olde feeling
Frustration
I need to call him
I need to leave work
To return home
For his funeral
If not now,
Then soon
I need
To break into my own stores of oxygen
I havent had enough
I need to sink into the wilde,
To break from this sense of self,
Personhood

Beyond stasis
We may both die far from home
We may both be returning home
I need to escape

22.05.017

Your rituals of movement-- gestures,
Humans call them--
Have me living a celestial fantasy;
Words and their cadences, lilting patterns of aural accentuation;
Meetings of ocular sphincters, irises--
A morse-code of sorts--
Place me with supreme delicacy
(Every time)
In a special space, allotted for enchantment
And obfuscation, a rebuilding of psychic memory, a blurring of otherwise-objective
Perception, an reality independent
(Non-existent).

By your'n blazing gaze, I am held:
No power, no willful movement.
My mind screams as you move into the space
I've been taught to think of as "me"

18.08.017

"We aren't able to locate you" -- Grindr.

In a straight bar, on my fifth whiskey-coke. The treble from the corner speakers cuts my ear drums, a low-grit sandpaper. The kids are talking about cocaine and adderall. I could use some weed, or a sobering three-mile walk home. It's quarter-past ten, and I'm thinking about bed, or about taking the suave teddy-bear to the bathroom with me. He joked that 5 more beers might do it.

"Running through the dark woods; fallen, couldn't see straight. I was only looking for a Human to reciprocate."

ONE BIG BLOB!

Feeling forgotten by friends really fucking sucks. Especially when you're dealing with depression-- it definitely makes you feel worse. Worse than angry words is silence. Angry or hurtful words can at least allow a person to feel anger in response, whereas silence and ignorance help to create a maddening state of uncertainty and self-doubt. Nebulous, unsure, dangerous. That's when the worst thoughts creep up. Social media makes it worse; without it, you are guaranteed to be forgotten entirely, but with it, you get to watch the rest of your friends not think about you together. It really fucking bugs me too when a friend says "I support you"-- the fuck do you mean by that, are you just fond of wasting words? Expending breath and moving your tongue and lips to form the necessary sounds composing the words "I support you" is one thing, but actually checking in (much less responding to a series of unanswered texts over the course of days), actually inviting a person to social functions, actually taking the time out of your self-overbooked schedule to spend some time with a friend is another thing entirely. Words are practically useless. Good intentions are fucking useless. Being thought of, being included, being invited are so goddamn important to a person's ability to deal with mental illness. Goddamnit I miss having friends.

15.05.017 Displacement

I think of you while I'm in the sky.
Do you like that, what do you think?

It's an oddly private place-- a metal tube of strangers,
displaced
40,000 feet above in air.

It is so strangely calm--
separate from everything, removed
from the grounding
qualities of Earth overpaved, or bare;
sodden, sun-baked.

I am in a place separate from the
two places
which keep us separate. A null-land
free from the barriers
of borders, space.

Do you like that, what do you think?

I am returning home from a place called home,
the false progeny of my father's father.

Desire for a piece of me, forbidden even in
the falsehood of my progeny:
a chance, perhaps, to meet the other me--
a mediating factor of the Larger Equation;

an opportunity

to unmake the last of these barriers-inward-hemming:

Ego, sea, and quiddity.