gently being here again/still
scrolling for an image for this post, i wonder if i’m saying something just to say something, not because i have something to say. saying. an enormous world of talk, banter, bitter, brittle; i stand to the side, immersed and enmeshed in the substream, substrate, submarine dojo (!) of understanding the animating movements;
i rarely struggle with my work, rarely am embattled thinking it should be something else. i trust its flow. will you or someone you know or someone who’s real pay (!) me to keep believing in the ongoing testament of my heart and soul? i like showing people my poverty; i like proving the country is not set up for the right kind of thriving; this is where language fights against the status quo ~ you/others may be tired of listening to me, remembering me, recalling that yes, he does exist, he is doing the thing he has said he does, he hasn’t stopped even though it’s impossible, infeasible, he had six (6) U.S. dollars in his checking account not a week ago (!) (facts!) until he checked his Patreon account and found $694 from a few months of patron contributions forgotten about
now, don’t click this, go read mainstream stuff
everyone has a choice of what to read next, what image to fuse and merge with next,
this is where you’ll meet me: in the choice of who to become and what it will be for: women, children, country, thriving; the voice of justice, the voice of what the Left should be, unless the Right is more open and operationally sound to be taken over by BENEVOLENT PROPAGANDA, ah, this prospect tires me out already, fighting with other men insisting on the credence and supremacy of their CAPS LOCK screeds, outburst, rants, raves, wrong ideas; I prefer slowness and nice women
*
new year, old me way better, clearer, more silent — serene and specific, seance (seancetific?) descent into the undergrowth (belly?) animating singing, music, action; there is so much here: facing presence and reality is really a lot; what voice wonders what to do, as if there’s something to do ~ the only thing to do would be control; there is also love, surrender;
i look like an asshole on the surface; the hip female baristas don’t like me, or they’re just cold—toward cishet (not cashew! cisgender heterosexual!) white men, especially those who do art—they think they’re good enough ~ the gall! too many exclamation points; better than other men’s explanation points
yes, i am an escape from the rest of the men on the internet
i go alone, you are welcome to be here
then i see how much you aren’t here
we overcame the distance and separation for a moment, this moment, and maybe this moment is all we need
wait—did i take you all the way there? this is choppy, this is not good, this is not communication, this is ugly art, bad sculpture, imagine all the bad art never seen, clay thrown together, stupid canvases, not worthy of human eyes — is it true?
as ever, none of us can afford to go on like this; money—war—politics—men! men with nothing better to do. i’ve figured it out, i know why there’s war, but the people who could do anything don’t and won’t listen; maybe i’m wrong, they’re wrong, we’re all wrong, we’re tired but not tired enough. worthiness! i am the bugle insisting someone be worthy! i raise the bar! that’s why i’m hated. i may prefer it this way: familiar pain, don’t we all seek it?
