a fresh slag pile for my digital girlfriends

when will i see you again? don’t you see i remembered you? but the remembering needs to be refreshed, blown through the trumpet of my steep paid toll of opportunity cost: you want me where you are, nowhere else. i’m chained — a chained trophy tiger, for the benefit of all beings

(GPL 7/17/24)

it’s only 10am, time to dive headlong into the accumulation that would accrete into a house and a lifestyle, a temple in which to fuck and cuddle and make a family, i miss family, but i wonder if i could — when confronted with a real woman in her mid-late 30s who still wants something, the man must rise to the challenge of committing and showing up, shaving and dressing, running the show of business, taking the mantle and the flame from the incumbents and being the one to lead, be responsible, learn the laws, discipline and punish, command

is there a good boyfriend beneath this rubble

i said i like your smile

and lost consciousness

in the blue of your eyes

I have deleted all dating apps and have mostly ceased to be charming. Still good-looking, still chivalrous, a good partner. Money is the main thing I lack command of.

slash some works in progress to wake up, re-engage, reattach to the calendar, timetable, the voice and ongoingness of others, to break alienation, to reach the shore, even if I don’t want love or sympathy; “you have to like work better than being loved”; work will welcome me back because I can believe it; the reliable voice is my own; the authority, father, boss; yes, I write this to save myself, as music plays; I cannot be riven from the docks and piers of others, no man is an island, everyone belongs, but money haunts the whole charade, money governs our moves, hence marriage is a war, especially with a child; how to be normal in these times? For whom do we perform?

it used to be very easy to just jack into a document in progress and begin pouring raw magma; it is stupid without her; perhaps i am selling my wound, turning my openness and availability into a product to insert into the world of capital, labor, being believed in, even if i don’t believe in change anymore

spectral devotion

debonair delinquency

orthogonal diatribe

diagonal remnants

flared precursors

the hard part is not grabbing for possession, not earning anew and reinstating the world of housewives indentured to workaholic fathers ~ balancing masculine and feminine in a new way, the right way

(GPL 12/5/23)

enduring not being wanted, an object of fascination like a precious babe; becoming precious = making other people feel how you wish someone would make you feel; aspirational emotional re-engineering, re-energizing; do it again

(GPL 12/4/23)

troubled times

you know i cannot lie

i’m off the wagon and

i’m hitchin’ a ride

of course all canvases are liquid and open for inclusion; leave everything unlabeled and unfinished, eminently open; this threatens precedents and case law, law school, law and order, church, parents who don’t want to reinvent or make new belief systems, want the old; desire for the old is one force, insistence on the new is another

(GPL 11/22/23) linear time doth reign, the order of words and events, who’s up who’s down

hmm, adding blind? that would be #goals, the real risk, the only thing that’ll keep me awake

(GPL 11/13/23 but editing is crucial, protecting the woman; yes, I am learning duty

it has become different, you’ll have to ask me; the love i need is the love the world needs, i am like everyone else — but competition, the lists, rankings and brands reanimated by scheduled obedience; Monday is the epidemic

but people are hot and coffee needs to be made

desires meet abilities

i want my girlfriends to see my latest stuff

like a boy seeking a mother

we only replay the past to the new soundtrack we are rich and lucky enough to wake up into again

so all i say is we are here

(GPL 11/10/23)

impatience rules; the world not resolving quickly enough

once i get married it’s over, then rich, then own, then defend

the same intensity; ah, delay; difference between here and there, transfixed by the sound and feel of the distance and the experience of narrating it, stuck in the present

listen to the dream, i’ll carry you through; you’ll know me and i’ll know you, yet we never touch, even if we cum, even if we look like the pictures; the feel never matches the image, we are always different, even if we staunchly defend our rituals, habits, checklists, celebrations

nothing lasts

nothing is sure

we are terribly open, beating-heart bodies

digital boyfriend analytics

i do respect women for being very much in lived experience; ah, how typing can’t ever keep up with memory. So we’re fated, doomed, futile; my truth pushes back against/upon the truth of the world, the already-said; I revise the stone

freedom for this thing to be whatever it wants to be; a place to rest attention; perhaps I have exhausted every kind of anxiety.

the server command tells your router where to look; engineers don’t know what’s worth looking at outside of work

keep me away from copywriters and royalties especially on Saturdays; everybody capitalizes and holds sounds sacred differently; sound is so triggering: we are machines of saying what things are not

your only power

is to say

pay or decline

that’s no way to talk to your new stepdad!

as in, i married your mom

legendary move

crazy genius only mildly exhausted

painting the internet with what i know

girls be like “OK tell me everything”

they are wells of being told

i can’t believe i still don’t want to hear from you

que sera sera

https://open.spotify.com/track/5WgOELT1kPGBVCHVHvzIHS

death is in the air

no more than usual

the truth is 12 internet friends is all you need

mocha pot is the Italian thing Bénjamin Abáte had on the Upper West Side where I could very well own property; what ZIP codes do I want to worry about? No man is above being zipped

you know it’s easy when you have a home

hunting with kindness

my soul-sword drawn

no one to tell; the advanced loneliness knows

i simply attend sounds which are always new

the glory of there being nothing to prove

just kept pilling stuff up; you are forgiven

for your life not having been different

dialing into the divine every time i wake the screen

you are the same and we are saved

this need not be timeless; it’s always new

poet as athlete of memory, lol it’s true

fear of people rules everything in my brain; music loosens it up, destroys the divide between people

i am wealthy because my mind never flew too close to the crypto people

https://twitter.com/gpl_writes/status/1684988818993098769

“[The enigmatic American filmmaker Rob] Tregenza is not sketching the wistful unhappiness of the moneyed creative class so much as staring into the divide between souls.”

https://www.nplusonemag.com/issue-33/reviews/we-can-still-think-our-own-thoughts/

sailing to Norway with Erik in tow, playing house, paying the bills

from what i do alone — — pulling others into my intimacy cavern

The damn problem with Norway is that you have to stop every 20 meters for your kids to lose their mind over some government funded playground that’s better than anything they see back home.

https://twitter.com/tomcritchlow/status/1680667185843142657

grief for life unlived

the nightlife is my life

i usually structure my staring

because i don’t obey i am interesting

living the best life available

open to what i’m not, staring at it, letting resonance and facsimile ~ osmosis; ostrich summer breeze meant to mix memories, stretch other people’s internal canvases;

ashamed for having remembered

ashamed for being called, for knocking,

for wanting

the screen is where we’ve agreed to do everything

the screen is where i form myself

i would never set out to write a thing about the screen

i don’t control what i do; i am however its messenger; it’s nice to personify it as a Her; countless cute girls in theory are one in the flesh, another good line;

there is no need to rush to publish content; better to move people

The poet’s mind is in fact a receptacle for seizing and storing up numberless feelings, phrases, images, which remain there until all the particles which can unite to form a new compound are present together.

composed out of feelings solely

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/69400/tradition-and-the-individual-talent

a map of impulses

sanctioned aimlessness

a free pass from my boss

ah, all this courting allowance

the day remains finding the next fight

being a woman trying to get ahead with her beauty and mediocre words and insights, slaking the pile of books, the colors drenched in her childhood

you’re a broke narcissist who’s aching for a turnaround

there’s just closeness

i am a saint and steward

looking for work

looking for meaning

sterile slop

what we want is human tissue on the page

beating, bleating, moving

safely silent

https://www.morrisseycentral.com/messagesfrommorrissey/you-know-i-couldn-t-last

collapse the judgment (of mediocre men with the newspaper) and get into humanity; is everyone in this coffee shop doing the wrong thing? would it be a creative leader to be one who tries to facilitate generation?

now girls are just kinda meat, now that i’m fucking one who got me back into smoking; what verbs scare me? atrophy — remembering Cori, appreciating Jessi and Carla, Bella sort of; well, to embarrass myself, talk about fantasizing about my teenage sister family friend, plastic vodka bottle sleepover, girls getting drunk, remembering everything, letting loose their longing and curiosity; college sex, glorious, amusing, Oregon State, yes I vomit up my leadership treacle unafraid of consequences because this psychic backwash is so not new or novel; there is too much going on now and there always will be, yet everything is tied together with “and” as the dead poets say; so LIVE, LIVE ALL YOU CAN; also, since we’re in America, DO ENOUGH BUSINESS, the business of memory; girls just wanna remember; Isabella is a hot mess, texted Christopher all day and night about her being in transition, picking out emoji: she’s dangerous, she wants things ~ sexual desire and business desire hum in parallel

the rhinestones versus someone in roller derby; reality entails openness; i name life all kinds of things; could just sit with open brain and observe, type automatically, not controlling the material; could literally sit here all day and work on my observing skills, naming orange hair, an explorer type man with a green hat and red phone, leather bracelet, legal pads; he tells his conversation partner, “no rush”; big black armor coming on the song in my ears, grace just in your honor — i will be saved by total translucence; i cannot be lost in self-awareness; i will get lost, not win, and the night will come again

the latchkey kids rise to power, the boomers are losing their power

beautiful (dutiful) hippie bohemian people talking about boundaries who were taken into these oppressive states, as beautiful light caring giving people — — people like that have learned to communicate and express their boundaries and protecting themselves from getting taken advantage of; I don’t see egotistical or selfish when I listen to talk about boundaries

i wonder what your boundaries are

your whole journey with boundaries

life depends on others’ perception of boundaries

we have boundaries our whole lives, even when we’re children

people setting boundaries

is the loneliest thing

about middle age

have fun about your self-protection

a dark place i built around me

shift and equalize

enjoy myself more fully and in different ways

IT IS HAPPENING

but i was in an abusive relationship

survival mode → center

sell my personal information if you can

the dream of me is better than the real

oh, this prison of the actual

stokes others’ memories

experiences which never happened

tomorrow we’re going Within

Let’s stay on the path and let it form and make us formless no matter what.

always: work and push some more or go be outside for a few and take a break

biometric data given to governments; they don’t have the discernment to see a soul; I write about what can’t and won’t be known; I write about my separation, and I treat the necessity for union like sewer water — treat it; men everywhere are doing the healing, there are no enemies, this is heaven, a horrendous disjunction of judgment

Epoch closed because there’s an inflatable waterslide in the front; Wi-Fi still works but I’m out of battery power; male things to be grateful for having had: we wake up in loss, emptyhandedness, No Guesses Found; a woman sometimes feels like she doesn’t have a partner except the city, the horizon, her own depths vibrating with the imagined image of a savior which a man then fulfills by his showing up right on time with sun gleaming as ever, will be so for a few more billion years; is “a few more” ever enough? four or five is so small compared to the sensation of hunger

You can work or play. We prefer play but everyone’s gotta work. We’re here for you either way.

https://www.instagram.com/p/B9b97SCJ35T/

AMERICANS HAVE AGREED to work constantly; Europe hasn’t quite made that bet; makes austerity difficult, taxes and pensions, who gets relief from the drudgery; difficult politics

patronage

Cosmic_Guest

Unsecured Network…

you take the risk of your activity being ‘hacked,’ stolen, infiltrated; the care of putting the comma inside the quotation, because what we look at is who we are, confirms the rules, enables us to keep operating; Chris is in the weeds, Kyle journaling and meditating, Rex delighting in my music recommendation of “Cosmic Girl” by Jamiroquai, spelling out the artist’s name ~ in my bag like Anne Hathaway in that impeccably tailored off-white, cream suit — a load of cute girls here at Cosmic Coffee in South Austin — girls, meetings, potential; do all words now root in Her, the new muse, the embodied mystic, Sarah Slack? Dark-haired cutie with her altar set up, a chemist with plant medicines and spices alike, wife material

a toast to the boogie, baby

screenshots

materials

one of the voids

watching flaming-cute girls who have become so basic, running their beauty like a business all workday long, calls and laptops, I could watch her forever

matcha painkillers

disappointment, betrayal

what are some of the stores

what are some of the stories

between stores and stories

a sweet girl stays busy

writing poetry about the truth

courting monetized closeness because money is the way to get free

no amount of effort can save us from oblivion

so embrace the fall with style

pitfalls are human

the pores of my teeth are open

unequal

the addict dreads and adores the present moment

whose acceptance are you courting?

a Casanova reference at 3 in the afternoon, her poetry

i love your laugh

crushed veneer

we already know God has a sick sense of humor

so we work, pay (bay) our bills, and wait for His next joke; he is us, we hate it: this lack of separation. I want to smoke her gold banana ice vape for my endless Freudian oral stage

close your eyes, give it all and there’s more to edit; the emergency of Writing is particularly what you thought: life is violently slow; must now find, grow and nurture love to keep life worth living

Memesis (be good) and leisure (rest from being good, don’t be good); one is wont to check in on work — now I just remember everything and nothing’s been done, it all needs to change and there’s time; something will happen; hunger for tits is enough to sustain the eyes open

Before I go home and eat my white foods, come to the coffee shop, aching gratitude, intimacy hangover; communication is the art — reaching out, building a bridge

the art of being a nobody splayed into media

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/11/13/magazine/internet-fandom-podcast.html

slow and set to a woozy beat

the magic thing is what we project into what we read

our writing is our wiring

mds_stores (Process) using more than 100% of CPU

MDS stands for Metadata Server and it tracks and maintains data that exists on your Mac

is responsible for maintaining and compiling the data collected by MDS to make Spotlight more efficient

so the whole computer gets indexed every time I restart; like a poet seeing the world for the first time every time, like LSD (acid) taught me; be self-taught Bukowski said; oh quotation, allegory, metaphor, song

the business of putting your soul in the cloud and being available distantly; also in this house full of love, duty, devotion — these words I use / being used are not mine, they come through; me as instrument, me as record and proof of what everybody else also is, all the time: simultaneity a crystal shard floating in the sea of goo

The me vs. me drama of the electric screen; everybody looking at images: the mirror versus the mainstream, everyone trying…to land, to be made real in others’ minds — others the site of recognition

another vignette for/of the permanent record

each thing is the whole because the listener/receiver is the whole, always vibrating with the all

he was just a handsome alcoholic; the lack of knowledge and respect becomes apparent the harsher the sunlight, Sophoclean;

i want what sustains me to maintain me

i know what we all want

Hi there — I am mostly an art, philosophy and personal expression account, and I’m not sure what exactly got my account restricted back in February … I would like you to revisit my case and perhaps unrestrict my ability to tweet, message, like and comment again. I mostly participate in the poetry community, and am a longtime advocate for Twitter as a place to discover and share your true voice and make real-world, in-person friends and connections which lead to business, romance and a flourishing literary and arts community online. Thanks for considering reinstating me; I’ve been a passionate active user for over 10 years. — Geoff (@gplewis)

Standup morning pages Saturday 7/22/23 beautiful summer, today is fruit-yogurt-nut breakfast then Epoch then baseball then shower then seeing Sarah and Fin and Marley cooking dinner snuggling sex conversation spirituality liquid bath in her beautifully decorated home, my bike parked in the tall grass tied with a purple chain, blue bike with a basket, Kyle’s friend in New Zealand, hello world; Luke leading us in ceremony to resonate with Pluto and Neptune, Texas and the United States, the oceans and sea creatures, all other hearts as they beat as one, common language of sighing, hope, generosity, fear — fear and addiction are amusing: what are we afraid of? Lack of humanity? There is nothing to fear; there is no fear in love; Sarah gives me a face to project into, a mirror that smells good; a poet is a professor of the five senses who constructs bridges between them

the shower goes on, the house — the members, residents; Saturday goes on, midsummer

precision and force

What game shall we play today? I know the perennial question: how to be The Self and rise up out of this sea of papers and say something, do enough, nourish the internal silence well enough to keep wanting to live — deodorant residue tumbles from an otherwise-cute girl’s underarms (she ordered a rose tea); shooting fish in a barrel, Allison, as I choose word duos that sing; “do y’all have brunch food?” Allison asks. Barista life is cool; it’s enough to get by; barista/bartender, service industry, rather than being a genius for a living, being cool and well-dressed, competitive amongst the striving egos melting into digital content hoping to be accepted; I now live by the intensity of the strive and know that the point is to feel, to have no expectations, to keep going, to wring yourself out completely: as in athletics, professional sports, the point for the player is to do the best you can with what you have: it is the intensity of pursuing the horizon

Lyle Lovett — If I had a Boat

if “everybody’s the same” is the truth

why bother ordering your digital front door?