taking my time, not rushing

tapped into “the voice” as ever which is just a churning volcano of noticing remembering imagining and PATIENCE yes that sultry midwife who births careers YOU’LL HATE ME FOR because you know i’m sick and a monster revealed and you know i’m the cure to all evil in the world and part of a solution but you hate me every step of the way (jealousy is love and hate at the same time) because i’m risky on the microphone and also a good self-manager, both the reckless playboy and the starched and ironed lawyer father; how i am both, how you hate and love i can do it and believed it, drained all my luck and privilege, inflated my monster ego which i use to serve truth and vice-versa

it is beautiful to reach the zenith of possibility, being in full control of my destiny, with infinite time to remember it all, sculpt the way forward to the perfect death, to join my imaginary friends in the afterlife, echoing down here in base reality forever; yes, forever; i have tasted it, write poems about it constantly, long scrolls, oh how i could show you the miles of creations! read closer! stay with me as i churn it all up; stay close, close; who are your friends and colleagues anyway? don’t you need a sorta-best friend? i won’t be reliable as you wish *but* …for certain things yes, if you can let time pass; you have other, snappier friends for other things; we deal with soul and sin, forgiveness and passion, patience and fury (at the world, at timescales, at five-year plans and blockers, at capitalism, at the fact that You have to be the owner, You can’t stay caught up in chains of employment, You have to become work itself; You must be the One like I am, as sick and brave and real as me, not retreating to some other place, some other safety; this life in the arts is indivisible ~ and however aged and experienced you may be, it’s your word against mine; confidence is the only currency; if I believe, it doesn’t matter what you do

One Person, Who Believes They Have Agency, Can Change the World.

how did I learn to reach? What have I been reaching for in my writing and posting? What do I hope for? Forgiveness? Redemption? Worthiness? Security? I am happy to be loved by trust, by which I mean money; yes, I am a sick man in a sick era; money equals love; love is nothing but fear of being alone; maybe this is the only thing I still have to learn correctly, but every day my attitude about this is tossed and tumbled like a cork on the sea, ever iridescent and catching sunlight in new ways; I toss, I swim, I wait, I turn it over again and again; I listen; you can’t hate me, I’m as good as men are going to get on this planet before your death. Hate me only to hate the game, and hate yourself: your impatience, your unwillingness to accept responsibility and blaze a trail. I am here to make you mad and entertain you; I’m the perfect artist, like you told me: i’m narcissistic, miserable and have all the right stuff, just like the coming generations, an anxious wreck looking on their phone for salvation, trying to be pretty and smart and good enough to have stable housing. Are they worth it? Who’s going to pay? Let us look together at government; ha, see, this is now becoming prose copywriting for the bullshit workday everybody can’t swim up out of fast enough. Maybe it will take more years to see what isn’t bullshit.