Triumphs of jealousy frustrate individuality when what is said and given gravitates toward a spin to complicate self esteem estranged from her numb ability turned high pitch voice with lies from the justified numbness I justify by hating the gut feeling of wrong thoughts manifesting my heart into coal hoisted above the plank to serenade . Clustered repeat of where the flustered face and feeling becomes real I dont know how to deal with what I over medicate to not feel and have to know what I think I do but do not and instantly alone upon my arrival to fight it I’m at the perfect time left alone and you know what I’m vulnerable I’m alone. A poets mind is full of demons especially when they need to remind. If you disagree fuck your poetry and those you wont ever read I’m behind and shes stronger and will leave me back below the. I’m not doing anything yet the yarm wrap bubble crackling fortress of reassured void that I know what’s it’s from yet if the true is what you know I need but punish for your personal attack on my expressive state calmly until I’m dismissed and then rage displays protected behind the glass of what in my life oh god no I’m not revealing iceberg tips of behaviour within the context of this expressive pecking into my phone. Out of place. Out of abilities. Out of a tolerance for which the drug soothed one time kind of never did anyway avalanche frost britten breathes deep this state where I feel a fear that only anger and a non existent proof of delusion instigates the defending of what in my head is real to feel naturally considering my misunderstanding. Hard rocks bare feet elevated broken stuttering in a shaken loss for words when I need another is not something someone deserves to suffer alone. Not me. Or maybe. I’m delusionally just weaker than the cluster fuck. Cake scented snores. Should write more but the tucking in of my eyelids corroded strips of film. Vulnerable. Vain. Sad. Pickled dill rotten neuroshima fills fills fills zero care or reassurance
Reached 600 subscribers to this here little wordpress I started as my first assignment for the Poetry/Zine/Letterpress Cerftificate Program at the amazing Independent Publishing Resource Center in September 2010. I’m also 9 years clean today. Nice weather. No matter how bad things seem they will, if you just try, get better. Unless you have killed a baby or something. 600 readers. Plus the 6000 others connected through LinkedIn and other Social Media platforms that are linked with this site. Meaning I don’t have to go on them. Which I’m becoming more and more uncool with as the days go on. But you have to if you plan on being successful. You gotta Nike it. It was nice to pick up the newest Fast Company issue and see my economic forecast to be correct in all ways good for which I will continue to do. Thank you, again. 2 Fair Stand The Fields of France CDR releases that I put out myself, “Wasnt Hendrix Here When You Called?” And “Cirriculum” will soon be available on Interpunk.com. There are only 4 copies each. Still holding the number 1 slot on RN in the experimental charts. Have been for at least a month. Reverbnation.com/fairstandthefieldsoffrance9. I’m a vain and psycho-social art school drop out reject which is why I am the absolute shit. No revolutionary. Just a neurotic self absorbed punk poet who will break the barriers. Whatever that crap means. I have Bipolar Type 2. Maybe I am just hypo-manic.
highlight: stumbling across a new obsession on youtube today I walked to a friend’s house so that we could practice a song and her parents were concerned with me walking 20 minutes. apparently they are picking me up and sending me home next time. I also appreciate my friend who asked me if I wanted […]