lune de septembre

fluorescent september moonlite
dripping midnight at the seams
as cold lonesome air weeps
upon petals asleep
retired birds to crickets aroused
slaps, smacks and shrieks
into timid 
tick
tocks

prison bars of content
dissolve slow from acid
within, escape
in plain sight

forge new regimens
in the morning
for the last time
again

He was right. The soul resides in the stomach. Think of it this way; when the stomach is full, it’s full of shit.Everything you care about is cared about half-assed. But when it’s empty, it feels the misery, hopelessness and despair of all things. It doesn’t stop there.
It acts upon neuropathways in developing habitual comforts. It releases dopamine in the sense that makes you feel comfortable, like ocd patient perpendicularly preparing pencils. It seems to suck in the misery, hopelessness and despair, and somehow imprisons these feelings. It becomes bacteria easily spread to those around you.

Starve them. Eat while unbearably sad. I’m aware it sounds preposterous, so take this as fine print. It hurts that internal festering agony too; and as you starve them, you starve yourself too. Empty stomach. Of course, you really start feeling the pangs of hunger after about 4 days as an average american eater, so hydrate. After my second day, I found myself both doing and enjoying things I’ve never thought about. Something different. Anything different. Those little habitualisms we found comfort in. Patterns.

 

 

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believe yourself. stop sitting.

i’m not sure how poetry works. i’ve read a few poems. they were alright. i’m sure they applied to their time and at the time, they became popular. i’m sure i could be a poet or a laureate if i had been raised 100 years ago. maybe 80 or 60 or 40. but i wasn’t raised then. i was raised here. with you. while you had things better, and i didn’t. i resented you. but i don’t anymore. you resent me now, and you don’t know why. we’re like bad step-siblings.

i want to say there is a way for us to work together. but there isn’t. you have this irrational need to feel in charge. fine. with. me. but feed us. give me your anxiety, your restlessness, give me your wavering belief in the moonlight because you just don’t know anymore.i’m not here to hurt you. i’m not here to help you. i’m just hungry. i’ll eat anything you feel strongly about. it really doesn’t matter what it is. but open your heart. it looks delicious.

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thursday’s child

i checked my horoscope today. i don’t recall whether that was done in the name of fun or not. I just read a thing that said my and everyone elses nights will be easier when the moon is least close to full. a quarter or less and they can’t touch you without looking stupid. wraiths and regrets surround us at every stage of breath, and only wait for that tiny heart of yours to jump. you’ve felt it. when it feels like your heart missed a beat. you think it’s because you accidentally held your breath. maybe you didn’t realize why you were holding your breath. did you ever remember feeling your own heartbeat before now? cool, huh? it’s like a gulp of fresh air. sometimes i feel like i’m dreaming this stuff and it’s simply a product of my overactive imagination. but sometimes, it feels like i’m not the only one to feel like this. as if others may feel this way too. but i don’t know. i want to move, to act but it looks like nobody gives a fuck if i actually try to save the world. so, who cares? enjoy what you got now. you don’t have a choice.

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teepee wizard

When i was in highschool, i was asked to volunteer in this program that got a bunch of outgoing/socially adept students to help socially awkward/special needs kids break out of their shells. At the time, autism wasn’t a widely known term yet. I was a sort of class clown from sophomore year and on and didn’t really care to have any responsibilities at the time, but I learned how to discipline my tomfoolery in theater thanks to a drama coach that noticed me hiding in bushes and throwing whole rolls of toilet paper at students that walked by, and not get beat up for it. (like whole rolls one uses for the traditional teepee-ing.) He asked me to take a class with him and I never stopped. Anyhow, I joined the program reluctantly at first, but figured it was a weird way to pay it forward. I didn’t care much about paying it forward really, but it being weird was the selling point.

A few weeks after Yes I Can (said program) started, a of the other volunteers stopped going. I figured it was probably because the kids we were helping weren’t just introverted, but almost had a fear of socializing. There was so much going on in their heads but they couldn’t get it out. When people try to do nice things and get no response, the most common response is frustration, and it’s easier to just stop trying if you were volunteering to begin with. No contract, no commitment. But I stuck around. It was like a tough crowd at a comedy club. Oh yeah, that’s the method I tried. I said and did things to make them laugh. At first, crickets. But I kept at it and they started laughing slowly but surely, just enough for them to get used to me and go, “ooooh, jesse”, but you know, in their heads. Then I tried a buddy system where I’d take a few of them around campus with me as I mingled with different friends. Of course, I had my friends incorporate them into conversations and to not act different around them. The kids were not having it at first, but eventually came around. Sort of. It was difficult. For me too. (Imagine being the funny guy that no one laughs at!) In the end, I couldn’t help them break out of their shell. At least not completely. I failed. And the program got disbanded because of funding, but I still tried to hang out with them. I got them to at least, smirk.

I stuck around because they were just like me all up to sophomore year. I was quiet, introverted and didn’t care to socialize. I was depressed since first grade. After freshman year, I decided I didn’t care anymore. I had no friends until I stopped caring about what other I thought other people must have thought of me. But I was so deep into not caring that I hadn’t noticed I’d amassed small groups of friends everywhere. It wasn’t a click, I had clicks everywhere. Jocks, nerds, geeks, cheerleaders, potheads, ditchers and even clicks from neighboring schools. “The trick in life is to not care,” a friend said once, much later in life. And before you know it, you’re caring and loving without even thinking about it.

Strange dream I had last night made me write this. I was in a regular class and the teacher wasn’t there yet. But one kid from the program was there. I forget his name, but I think it was Levi. He was stuttering a sneeze. “aaaaa-ch-ch-ch, never m-m-mind.” an improvement! I was talking with some friends with him next to me. I turned to him and said something like, “I bet you stutter now, but you’re probably all up in those chatrooms flirtin’ with ALL the girls, you’re an animal, I bet. Everybody! Levi’s got bitches online!” Levi immediately defends his own ass, “No I don’t! Shut up! I don’t got bitches online! Shut up, Jesse!” And I smiled at him. And everyone’s jaw dropped. I told him, “see? You don’t stutter when it matters… even though it’s a lie.” Levi threw a roll of toilet paper at me and I laughed. Then he said something funny.

He said,
“It’s so much easier to make everyone laugh when we’re up here, but no one hears my jokes when we’re down there.”

It was such a profound thing to say. Autism locks these kids in their minds, and some people treat them like they’re brain dead. They’re really not, they just need a little help busting them outta jail. It’s not like they want to be there. Their brain/body process reacts differently to external stimuli. They’re not weird on purpose. They’re trying to be as normal as they can, but jaiiil. And not caring, while it may work for some of us, the key to the cell, doesn’t work that well for others. Alas, it was only a dream. But that quote Levi said though… I woke up right after, giggling. I repeated it in my head and thought, as above, so below.

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hu man rhapsodies

there are many
characters to play
in life and the cast
is few
multiple roles
for all
they come and go
in your life
you see a bit of
someone you knew
in someone new
maybe we’re
characters, avatars, vehicles
for an actor
maybe that actor is
your
individual
god
and they have friends to spare
for this little
production we call
our lives

whoever wrote it must be a genius, and may even
still
be writing it today
it never ends
what genre would you call
yours?

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sun and moon

try hard enough and maybe you’ll become immortal. you’ll die of course, it’s a guarantee. but your memory will live on. maybe in your children, but give them a few generations, and you’re forgotten like last wednesday’s lunch. maybe in the art you create, but given that there’s so much bullshit out there these days disguised as art, the lottery may be a better bet because you’re at least living in the moment in this game o’ life.

as far as being a good person, there’s very little to distinguish that from the difference from being a bad person. any reward or consequence will happen regardless; perspective is a magical thing. and as for karma – you’re basically placing all your money on a bet that you’ll be rewarded in the next life. belief is a magical thing.

i’ve played the pessimist and i’ve played the optimist. played the surrealist and played the realist. i’ve played many, many more. but in my research, i’ve found that i still can’t conform to the idea that chaos rules. i believe in controlled chaos. madness can be both weapon and tool. i suppose i believe in order as much as i believe in chaos. but i don’t believe any one person has the right to dictate what i choose. even if they’re huddled in masses reverberating the same broken record of an idea.

i’m law-abiding, but i will not hesitate when the perfect crime presents itself. not because it’s wrong and i want to stick it to the man or anything so mislead, but because i’m allowed to. the time to turn the other cheek had come and gone and got poor reviews, in my view. everyone seems to agree, not with what they say, but with their actions. slap back, baby. it’s only fair.

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budai

is there a name for that feeling when you’re huddled up in the corner, muffling your crying and thinking, “i can’t take this anymore.”

i wanted to believe i was the only person in the world that felt that. i really wanted to. but sadly, i think some, maybe most of you feel that way. and we muffle it.

…alas, it may mean little to you, but i cry over my helplessness to help often. sure, nobody’s to bear the burden of the world… blah blah, but i have this burning empathy i CANNOT EXPLAIN! I hate you all. i do! i fucking hate you all!! …but i can’t help but care. in truth, i love y’ll very much. the fuckups, misfits, saints and them stuck in neutral. this place is so pretty. but the pretty really doesn’t pop as when it does with the shit in the background.

spending so much of life arguing with god or gods and it really seems i’m arguing with myself. is that it? the meaning of life. to defy gods, only to realize how you’ve defied yourself?

well done, pig. well done.

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