Friday, July 30, 2021

2 Minutes. Go!

         Did you listen to the teacher, or did you force your views inside the cap to where the knowledge grows? Did you think I’d never reach you? Down deep where the green water flows? 

        I wrote a trillion poems soaked in acid and blood. I climbed to the top of the mountain and rolled all the way down while Sisyphus laughed. I don’t know shit about the other half. How they live. The thoughts they give - my heart clutches; my brain, a sieve.

        I’m not interested in excuses, sad ramblings, hidden muses. I want to dance with my shirt off in the breeze. I want to fly like the smudge of pelican you can only just see. Up there. In the sky. That’s where I aim to be.

And I ain’t above dying to get there. I don’t think I’m so precious that I need protecting. I don’t have that self-importance all the rest of you have been perfecting. Projecting? Fuck if I know - I’ll just lay my head down on this concrete pillow. 

If I start talking funny, just slit my throat silently. Drag me behind a building. Flood of blood. Drink it if you like, but leave the body for scavengers. I plan on living forever inside a vulture’s insides.

Now, you’re done; you’re done with this, and you’re done denying that you were the one who stood there with the red balloon in your hand, laughing. Like I couldn’t get a balloon if I fucking wanted one. 

Fuck you. Fuck me. Let it be. Two minutes. Maybe three.

Friday, July 23, 2021

2 Minutes. Go!

Adult amnesia is a tricky thing. We get so wrapped up in ego and maintaining. We lose wonder. We lose honest reflection. We are curating the experience instead of experiencing it. Children don’t do this. Not until they get programmed. 

We judge children for giving into their emotions so fully. We old folks forget how thick and sticky moods and emotions can be. 

Before you became teflon, you felt real joy, real sadness, real anger. Now, you feel facsimiles of these things and fill in the iffy parts with radio jingles and bucket lists - little pieces of movies and shows that you think happened to you. 

Meanwhile, your kids are just picking a hole in the arm of the sofa, but they are INTO that shit. And you ask them why. And they look at you like you’re crazy. Like, why’s there always gotta be a why, old man? What’s wrong with I felt like it; it felt good; I wanted to see what would happen. Meanwhile, your shields are up and you’re thinking about how much sofas cost, missing the point.

It’s hard being human, but everyone gotta pretend. Not kids. That’s why I like them. When they’re mad, they’re mad. You know it. Happy? Same thing. It takes a while to learn to lie about how you feel, to wrap yourself up into a presentable, marketable package, poker-faced. HERE I AM, A FUNCTIONING ADULT WHO IS DOING JUST FINE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH! Ask an adult how they’re doing. Fine. Ask a kid; get a real answer. 

I don’t have any answers, but I’ve got a bunch of questions. Wasn’t planning on writing today, but Antrobus called it, and I will always answer that call. So, here it is. The cap to the day - a day filled with deer conversations and otter nonsense. A pretty objectively GREAT day.

Does it matter? I don’t know. The deer aren’t thinking about it, and maybe they’re lucky. Maybe it’s me, sitting here thinking about how animals will come to you if you are quiet, open, gentle. Reflecting. Stuffing meaning into it.

Man, give me a world full of kids and animals. Send the adults to an island somewhere. They can talk about mortgage payments and politics. 

Just don’t make me go with them.