- All butchers must give up their firstborn, in service to the blood god.
- All haberdashers are in secret alignment with the gods of fate. The seams will hold or fail as they must, not as they should.
- Children in bad homes know but one sure way to escape: swear yourself in service perpetual to the Jolly Queen of Sugarplum Fairies. This has long been her readiest supply of mortal servants.
- Almost all itinerant tinsmiths and sharpeners of shears swear secret oaths to peculiar gods.
- Widows sometimes hear the whispering of things long dead.
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Friday, December 30, 2016
Thursday, December 29, 2016
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
Thursday, December 8, 2016
To all my libertarian friends (and anybody else that wants me to be ashamed of poverty)
First, by your own values I owe you nothing. However, I have to live with me so I consider politics and morality on the reg.
I am not ashamed of being poor. A lot of how I got here had to do with shame and fear, but let me lay it out plainly:
Your position does not give you exclusive license to morality, to a sense of worth.
I need help right now. My family needs help right now. I’ll stop accepting help just as soon as I don’t need it. In the meantime, I’ll figure out how I can help. Why wouldn’t I?
Well why don’t you just get a job?
1. I am not physically capable of performing any of the dead end jobs I could land.
2. I have a job. I work. All the time. It’s words and images I shape, but it is work nonetheless.
3. If I were to go to work at Walmart, what would it land me?
a. A great deal of pain.
b. Possibly slightly more money than I make as a starving artist.
c. Spending 40+ hours a week in abject misery.
I’ve done all that already. (And when I was a libertarian I participated in NO entitlement programs, you asshole conservatives with EBT cards…)Fuck that. And importantly, I cannot do these jobs.
With government assistance, Sharaya and I can keep the kids and ourselves fed, clothed, and reasonably happy. With little help from family, we are currently sheltered. My words draw in enough money to more or less cover the rest… not that very much more is actually necessary.
Is it the misery that makes the work valid?
Without government assistance? … well that is a scary prospect.
But what about theft? GOVERNMENT HAS BEEN IS STEALIN’
The things you more successful folks have created, were not created in a vacuum. You had help whether you liked it or not.
Trying to decide how much of everything everyone deserves out of everything all the time seems like a crazy fucking way to live.
No wonder I was so fucking tired and angry as a Randian.
So instead, everybody pay in. There is a social safety net.
Without being totally concerned about whether or not our children starve, myself and many others are free to swing for the fences with new and exciting ideas. The people more concerned with certainty are still allowed to act like that. You are still free to generate gross amounts of wealth… just nobody has to die in the fucking streets.
Do you not see that without that safety net, our lives are significantly more dangerous and less free?
Do you really think that $8 /hr you got for flipping burgers in high school was solely created by you?
Do you believe that your inheritance is somehow earned exclusively by you, if you have such a luxury? By what? The accident of birth? Was smiling at great grandma actually, factually worth several million dollars?
Anyway, I’m not ashamed of where I am. I am trying to get better, be better.
I’m also willing to help you, if I can (and if you’d let me).
So anyway before leveling that most horrid accusation that I am nothing but a terrible blight on your bright futures, some fucking leech to your otherwise shining success…
Before you do that, please take a step back.
And go ahead and fuck your own face off.
Love and Void,
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
Who I am... am I? I am?
The moments exist.
That they're not very important is in itself an unimportant observation maybe.
To be useful. Useful. Useful.
Fuck. It implies valuation.
So does living.
Inorganic granite pink.
The color of knuckles and concrete.
A naked eye. Some ragged claws.
Aware surviving unfair.
Do they sleep or not sleep?
Saturday, November 19, 2016
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
vision blurs like glass tiles
in opulent office spaces 20 years ago
eyes thrumming to a staccato beat
pencil necked geek from some
record I don't remember
this is how I fall apart
I imagined it would be like coming home
sliding into sleep
But not asphyxiation
It wasn't even sexy
I can't get the pencil to fit
broke the lead
Two scars like track marks all it bought me...
Memories hollow hope, nihilistic zen behind bars
Bend Bend Bend
This is how I fall apart
A dress not that dainty
A wife not that dainty
A life not that dainty
Hate sits in the living room.
Hate needs to see the news,
at one at five and two.
Hate stares through me with dead eyes.
I was riding out the wrong side of a mediocre high.
Pain is mine.
Personal property, like a medical bracelet.
Always close, an epipen.
Something unlikely in case of overdose.
In a dress.
This is how I fall apart.
Slide down, the bell curve and sigh
Wrong end of a one way line
Riding on ghosts of embers of wisps of smoke
Wrong side of today.
Wish I was high rather than alive.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Saturday, October 15, 2016
Friday, October 14, 2016
I needed something beautiful today.
I'm so glad this exists. Few have captured the beauty of everyday living as well as John K. Samson.
The Weakerthans broke open my brain so long ago.
The shining smile of parking lots, shadows, and dive bars... may it never leave me.
Monday, October 10, 2016
I expected only a few things to fuck up this morning.
I only anticipated 45 minutes for what should have been a 30 minute trip.
Ten minutes. Ten minutes too late.
The construction doesn't matter. How I was blocked in and had to fight through, and then close gates, does not matter.
I do not matter.
I needed this and failed once again.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
Monday, October 3, 2016
Saturday, October 1, 2016
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
Friday, September 23, 2016
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Mazes in minds
Salt cellars in the basement
It was not the cellar.
why is the cellar door so...
on the floor in the bathroom
marks on my knees
pus and splinters in my hand
marks on my knees
marks on my knees
marks on my mind
I didn't mind?!
marks on my mind
psyche surrender quiet black
never go back
never go back
marks on my knees
marks on my knees
forgotten and spread
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Sunday, September 18, 2016
Saturday, September 17, 2016
Friday, September 16, 2016
Terror of the everyday,
Terror Dreams of doing
needing seeing believing
quite possible pains.
but always, always remembers
me. remembers me.
take me away
a nest built in lavender
musty roots remember,
cold days underground
without a sound above
the sifting settling voice of earth
a dearth, a dearth, a beautiful dearth.
Thursday, September 15, 2016
|I am a malfunctioning machine.|
There was a time when we were netting $300 every two weeks, with a wife and newborn, and still refused to get foodstamps or any other aid. All under the guise of morality.
I hurt nothing but myself, and my family, with such nonsease.
I was once irrationally angry that a woman was buying a birthday cake via EBT. (I certainly didn't verbally assault her, however.)
Previously, I had been morally outraged by overhearing a conversation in which one woman told another something to the effect of, "I got my foodstamps. I don't need his ass." She said it with a sense of pride, HOW DARE SHE?! To my shame, I thoroughly ignored the second piece of that statement and all the beautiful and terrible implications thereof. I sincerely hope she is well and not with whoever the fuck made her feel that way.
Really though, I was mad because I was going to have ask to borrow money from somebody soon. I was mad because, with the insurance we had to have to stay safe, I didn't have a paycheck. (Obviously medicaid was not an option.) I was mad because the untreated mental illnesses that had haunted me since early childhood still screamed in the background. I was mad because I couldn't afford the beer necessary to quiet its screaming. (Both figuratively and literally.)
I'm pretty certain I was mad the entire time I was a libertarian and Objectivist. It felt good to get blitzed and rant about all sorts of shit I didn't really understand. Maybe I did know better, I just couldn't admit it. (It was hard to quit that view of humanity. I still find it beautiful if inept. Every man and woman and child an independent hero, needing no one, smiling at dollar signs and the fading sun...)
I kind of knew that the Austrian school of economics didn't pan out in reality... but it was a version of economics I could actually comprehend. That made it the right one, right?
I was mad because Republicans were evil. I was mad because Democrats were evil. I was mad because I wanted to impress freedom upon the world, and could not. No matter who starved. No matter the cost in lives, Freedom bloody Freedom, John Wayne into the sunset, motherfucking Freedom!
But is there any such thing as freedom when 40 hours a week doesn't result in a living wage? Fucking medieval serfs didn't work hours like that. How free was I to act and find myself when I had to beg for help every few months? Often from folk opposed to my own values, folks openly opposed to my sexuality, my very identity?
I don't have any definitive answers anymore, maybe I'll get some. I know I'll keep looking.
By every measure I'm aware of, rubrics of business growth, economic viability, and, importantly, quality of life, democratic socialism is the most functional form of government. It's where we need to begin if we're to sort this shitshow of American government out.
I'm still a minarchist at heart. I still don't trust the government or really anyone that seeks positions of authority. I am, however, pragmatic enough to believe it's our moral duty to begin with the most functional model of government available. With perfect transparency we can see what works and have healthy, fact based debates.
Crony capitalism doesn't work for most folks. Capitalism, raw and naked, has never existed. It probably would not be conducive to a healthy, kind, and happy nation. (When America has been close to naked capitalism, amazing things have been done: the railroads for instance. However, there have also been terrible, terrible costs: the railroads for instance.)
So it took homelessness and a lifelong dedication towards truth to sort it out, but I guess I'm a pinko commie faggot. You were right, guy who threatened to kill me on the internet. Congratulations? I guess.
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
Things like hopes and dreams and running seams.
Fall away. Do not float, depress.
Express only oils and honest experience. Purified of childish things, we bring only truth coloured like jade.
Mistakes have been made.
It's hard to explain.
Where, oh where, to begin? The benign? The end?
The days and ways of shattered faith, and other trash.
Remain only bitters, let's make an Old Fashion.
Manhattan? I had different drives.
Still here we are, in such a dive, delightful.
Oh let's just make it a whiskey and gin.
You grin and we taste.
We ordered them all night.
Nothing's alright and we smile.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Message an echo of creation
Haphazard snow, electromagnetic.
Universe as a show
Just heavy breathing on the other line
Microwave radiating outward
In all directions
What once was will ever yet never still be.
A memory of a moment long gone
Ready to be received, always.
Broadcast forever in all directions
Breathsome labor pains
All things were born in hot violence
We are but a cold echo.
Crashing against cold stones
For kinetic heat.