betting on the twitter network maybe most of all
the upheaval lately has been enlivening, emboldening, unsettling, queasy, revolutionary, bright, flaming, honest, exhausted, passionate, adult, queer, conflicted, empowering, grounding / because my faith in people and the platform and computing and the eager urge and intense hunger to get out of self and into some form of communion and solidarity and strength that will last, but media is wild — recency bias rages, for example (i’m too tired to name examples, i prefer to swim and fly and flap and not talk about the thing i just watched on instagram even though it has infected my mind, infection is a thing people may be wrong about, virology and affectation and wanderlust and dreams and professionalism (now none of this is reliable, simply a rushing down the rocks of a waterfall few visit and none know about, a random happenstance, a jutting of rock, a natural oblique self-excluding shape, that’s me, your man who has dreams and senses and visions yet is not there yet is still embarrassing flopping fingering foisting terrifying incorrigible reckless faceless a mirage a melange a melon a zookeeper oh lord no no no no he’s vomiting up dictionary again call the doctor there’s no valid doctor there’s a therapist i’d make a mommy why not just call my mom and love her she isn’t dead yet same with my father who is locked at his computer screen like i am no other better ideas of where to go now how to syncopate my insanity ain’t that the creative challenge any radical soul is here to deal with How to scream perfectly and get your threads embraced and find protection in capitalism when you are judged for how you fit and obey the model, maybe i remember too much and i can’t be saved through all this muck so i flush out the brown egotistical water from myself a sieve a salvation a sewage treatment plant this is simply a fast readout of dream transcripts which can’t and won’t be shaped into other things well maybe this is ceramics and sculpture and music brass woodwinds percussion bing bang boom a lightning rod oh that leads to another memory yes the spiderweb weaves no the spider weaves this thing this is trash i am fine but the work is trash and won’t be a career i should teach or have fun or get outside more with clothes on and become a public figure an actual person not just smoke and a hater and a judge from behind ever changing colors and names; i run away from being me, the problems are too deep (haha, i buried the therapy lede! I REMEMBER too much and all clauses are crashing down, Santas and dependents alike, lol what a unique line! who ever minted that on the blockchain of hell, everyone trying to grab at proof they’ll be OK, the frantic pouring out of anxious avoidant energy online in organizations for woke membership, oh god this fever dream can’t be cultural criticism, can it? can i be both the official TEDX speaker brand person with the right credentials and also stay snakelike and childlake and thrashing and knowing what’s wrong with things? this spicy longing to be both——i have no idea how this is read; the question haunting my life is what do i do, and/or what does ‘what i do’ do; obsession with being enough, my best is not good enough, i am not good enough, my work is not plied into the whole cleanly enough, enough voice does not resonate through these coils i lay in public, my circuits in the sea, circus of circuits, everybody trying to land——this badly needs a helper and a believer, you, mommy, therapist, coach, steerer, copilot; oh how this is proof the wound is deep and the call is loud, and help is necessary, and the blockages are real, it’s a natural disaster, i’m a natural disaster——now through the storm on the windshield, what’s my strategy? can i be the storm and the cure at once? finally, one good line; now, who can thresh down this cesspool to get it to the minimum, and then what? another white man pushing his content modules on twitter——i love the game, truly; being alone and trying to climb a ladder out via competence and performance; my sympathy us boundless for my contemporaries, no father in sight, no valid judge except the marble college campuses and who owns and operates them, carnival barkers, clingers ~ how you cling could be the story; what you believe would save you, which brushstrokes and breaststrokes and heartbeats and outputs——salvation may not be in the cards, safety and security are illusions and yet solidarity is real, the fear could be quelled, we could change our language and beliefs, or understand and play as if they are liquid because they are, magma smeared from one body to another, that’s romantic, how to #tag it as #romantic and #true, who could possibly categorize and classify this feverish outpouring of maybe being onto something maybe twelve percent of this is decent enough to bind into a book and teach? is that it? is culture what is taught in schools? culture is what kids find, tap into, online they find their found family, parents might have no idea what to do, maybe i could help yet am still a child and may not be trusted; someone more boring is more trustworthy, someone in a white and blue uniform, a doctor or a plumber of actual things not just the psyche, not just the flow between waking and sleeping, between real life and ideals; but aren’t i an authority on something? oh, how i lust for robes and titles while also knowing they are fake, silly, playthings, a theater of adulthood on the grid, full of boxed yearning and suspicious glances, catastrophizers all of us, salvation would come by being honest lol yes truly share all your guts turn it over inside out shake out the rust and guts online stop promoting start confessing admitting your complicity lol this is easy to know what is right to do but obeying is something else and so i offer my liquified delusion and the hearty swim out, this is all i will do and it won’t be enough because nobody wants or needs it, even you, could you pay? justify that to your mommy.