Anthology

i can make a 25 year decision in one night

can you?


And the lights

off the drunk man’s car

Don’t scare me anymore


Your silver pin

pricked me

In the point

I learned to forget


 

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Draft: Exposed Elegance

I’m so glad that the keyboard of my laptop is readily available to me, to access the internet to match works of literature and thought to my own in a array of constant thought. The internet speeds match up my own brain waves. The buzz of activity ringing, and telephone cords of dial-up aligning.

That day I walked down 42nd Street subway station, under the horrors of Times Square, I remarked aloud, “Wow! So many people! They just feel like cameos in my life.”

Like animals, we want to be in the in-group. Protected, accepted.

Letting others determine your self-worth. Self-worth.

We all admire a natural beauty, a woman who holds her own ground without much care as to what others may think of her. As effortless. But this privilege of seemingly natural beauty comes only to those who are deemed beautiful in the eyes of the public. Who are rewarded this attribute. Because they are casted as superior, they are granted this freedom to walk, to think, on their own two feet. And that is profound beauty in any language, because confidence is beautiful.

Some of us normal folk can only achieve a fraction of these elite’s confidence by adapting their styles, fashions, behaviors, mannerisms. It’s all such a tragedy. Because rarely is self-worth, confidence, esteem, ever found within oneself.

It’s as if we give the power of confidence to our peers, and have them determine when and if we are fit enough for the golden seal of approval.

Do not fret, I think it is an absolute mistake to give beautiful people the freedom of expression, to somehow become the beacon of light, the spokesperson of the world. Yet, I contribute to this mess all the same, praising and admiring people for their looks.

We pose as if the camera is always front facing. The spotlight on us, embarrassingly laughing at our own mistakes.

We love narratives of beautiful people who reject all rationale, and live and feed off of the hedonism of emotions. To be directed by a flow of a mood, to alluring high cliff, approaching their downfall. Because that’s what it feels like to be alive. We become, uncharacteristically, so human.

Matisse isn’t an artist renowned for being “one-of-a-kind,” but instead an ordinary man, just like any one of us, who took the task of displaying art. He embodies the life that would have been, of a man who took up the art, specific to that time period.

It’s his relatability that astounds us, not his “uniqueness.” His lines are easy to understand, because his sketches are products of the same learned lessons of handy work we have all taken up in primary school. He just unleashed that tool well into adulthood.

There should be no reverence when taking up Matisse’s work, except comical joy. A peculiar vision we all once had, in the late summer sloth fever, in seaside resort.

I think people with “mental disorders” are addicted to emotions, and how it feels. Because only in these extreme moments of sadness and euphoria, do we ever feel more ALIVE.

And heartbreak rejection hurts more because it’s a thing we have admitted to ourselves, and other person, as something we REALLY want. And our self-centered minds cannot fathom that cut to our ego. It’s aggravating, extremely mad. We cannot accept it, and we refuse to. But the reality is, we cannot have that person. No action we do will suffice, and therefore we take up our disappointment in emotions, and constant, unhealthy, thought.

Reality as art: Louis CK (Comedy), David Foster Wallace (Essays), Edward Hopper (Painting), Ted Hughes (Poetry). Music and images where our language fails us, with a shortage of vocabulary. Because I hate pop art that speaks universal truths without analyzation, without the self-awareness necessary to produce profound change and meaning.

Year 1

a work in progress…

Drowning, dead, senseless, in a pool of amniotic fluid. This morning I woke up to a dream, where I couldn’t stop the overflow of scrambled eggs and avocado from coming out my left ear. 

These days have been filled with spontaneous company and mixed drinks, and new arenas. It’s such a lovely carefree life. I don’t want it to end, but I want to bury the uncertainty.

I don’t feel close to anyone, and I have the pleasure of making the excuse. The excuse that people aren’t close to themselves- more like out of touch with their sensitivities, their scary vulnerabilities. This audacious statement may only work for so long.

A week ago, I stepped backwards, and the time capsule of poems I left could only mask the sadness. But the true test lied within strength. 2016 was a crusade, to save myself by loving other men but it never worked out.

Men are so easy to shrug off emotions as some sort of buddhist nirvana redemption shit. You don’t get a pass for being a fuck boy just by one magic word. Because that code doesn’t exist. Being a “nice guy” doesn’t absolve you of blame. Fuck boys exist in every age of life

I got tired of loving myself and loving you, you and all of you. So we will find out what crusade 2017, my choice of chaos or control.

So today I’m not waiting, not expecting, until the day a man can offer me his heart, a heart that has been housed in a body and mind that was strong enough to love himself.

Feathers alone

You there. Yes, you. Poor soul. From a small coastal town, with so much room to grow, but so little seedlings to pair with. They always told you that the cross country move would be so much better for a soul like yourself, because you could find other creatures just like you! On a safari to a more similar you, and to be surrounded by like-minded individuals with colors as bright as yours.

But instead you arrive at your destination, after long anticipation, just to find silly geese with cotton candy paint on their wings, and a symphony of nocturnal rats, too afraid to come out in the day, too scared to witness their reflection. To live blissfully in the dark and in denial was the reality of this promised land. For four years, she dined with the commoners at night, adapting to their schedule and habits, because the rats were more tolerable than the geese. You were forced to second guess people who couldn’t speak honestly, across the dinner table they sat.

Everyone too insecure to open up and show kindness, because we all have been crushed by monstrous stomps. Opening that vulnerability up would just pound that weak inner child in between cracks of concrete.

You are not like that my dear.

But of course, we are migrating creatures, with no loyalty to a country or force. Just as the birds leave for warmer weather, so must we, to find like-wise warm creatures. Never leaving a trail or imprint behind.

And so the journey never ends for some people. The rats never leave their holes, and the rest of them grow old and satisfied. Not just content with the season, circumstance or their partner, but making the decision to stop challenging themselves. Never to test their intellect, their wit, their emotions, and dreams.

Unfortunate are those who are born too old for their body.

Because god never solved anything for me.

The Masculine Fallacy

You have been built with all your fragilities, every stinging memory forming silver layers around your inner child. The precious core that has been trifled with from birth due to unfortunate circumstance. A sense of abandonment and neglect from your pubescent mother who was too young to care for you. A father who led a masculine campaign, with his army to escape and defend his freedom, finding an excuse to resolve the responsibility of your birth. His disgusting and futile efforts to abort you from the womb are universally disgraceful, but we all know his actions reflected fear. He was merely a child, too afraid of what a newborn would face in the harsh reality that is life. It was a fruitless effort to protect you from his misery and his vain efforts to grapple with life. Such is a paradox of duty from the patriarchal society you were birthed.

Yet he made the attempts to pick you up from the steps of the institution of your education, where you became a budding pupil despite the lack of fostered nourishment. A father you would never meet, where instead a kind man stepped in to protect you from a cruel precursor of what you will become. But no one could stop the inevitable pain, because no one can teach you how to manage the never ending conflict of life against your soft heart.

Instead of physical violence, you would use emotional leverage to protect your soft core, all snug to your liking. History showed a super ego form around the surface of your sensitivities. A pride that would bully any offender into an inferiority complex. You refused to trust anyone, because any sign of vulnerability would turn out to be a liability. But that is the nature of trusting another soul, another human with her own flaws and failings. No one would ever meet your expectations, because you failed to accept the beauty in the shortcomings of humanity. The hyper-masculinity you blame for unfair circumstances you faced, and lack of sympathy for the man you thought you were- all excuses.

Please do not misinterpret me, I’m in no way attempting to discredit your adversaries and life experiences. I’m just exposing your fallacies, and calling bullshit on your excuses. I am not longer the maternal warmth you once confided in. Your inconsistencies have been a constant annoying disturbance, a pathetic whimper from a child who refuses to grow up.

You claim I have been abandoned too, at a time of adolescence when neither parent stood by my side. But your interpretation is far different that mine. You find it easier to hate everyone, and blame them for your misery. The mirror to deflect the pain buried into your preteen heart. A shield you built on your own, because no one was there to protect you.

I will admit, I admire your independence, without a parent to coddle you or praise your many advancements.

You may pity yourself all you want, you can blame your parents, your cursed love affairs, the people around you who take advantage of the vulnerable. Yet you will never blame yourself, because it exposes your own failures, and that is something irreconcilable for you. A big disgrace from the same masculinity and society that brought up your father, your grandmother’s husband, and all the men before you, far poorer than you.

I do not pity your shell, your self-victimization of a story you love to create. These illusions are only adding up into a innate blindness, a self sabotage to save yourself. If you have the luxury to blame your shortcomings on your background, then you provide yourself the ability to never blame yourself. A soft cushion, to protect yourself from the problem of human nature, the shortcomings of reality. You refuse to forgive any deficiency by the human race, yet you fail to ever analyze your own.

I may have been one of they few to have ever seen a glimpse, a glimmer of a pearl, if ever so tucked away beneath the surface. But damn you, your lack of compassion insults me. When you have been blessed with so many opportunities and acquaintances.

Your brilliance is your ego, and you can’t accept the qualities of those who don’t match up to the competition. This infuriates me. Because you are smart enough, even claiming yourself to be extremely self-aware. So let me challenge this awakened creature you proclaim to be. Don’t you realize the inconsistencies, in what you believe and what you preach?

The moment you realize that you have designed a virtual narrative, where you fall victim to everyone’s stupidity and catch yourself accusing everyone else for your calamities- the moment you realize that you were an agent of free will this entire time- behold yourself. Forgiveness will be the answer.

The answer is never other people, it is only within yourself. There comes a certain time in life when you mature to a certain age and realize that the adults you once looked up to are the same as us. They all have customized flaws, standpoints, and ideologies. They are all grappling with the bizarre human life we have been granted. And every time you catch an inconsistency with a fellow human, just remember, they are doing the best they can. 

Here is your choice: to forgive those around you, and finally take responsibility for yourself, or spend your lifetime in eternal denial. Free will grants you the choice. 

But I know very well, people never change.