Pt.6 – E-NOTES AND IDEAS FOR BLOGS AND OTHER RAMBLINGS

my e-notes post u.s. election… full of anxiety, depression and paranoia.

to explain, I type out ideas and emotions, some I post to social media, most I do not… I collect them once a week on my ipad and try to post them to my website every so often.

I post them here so I might share them and to calm my fear of losing my work… I’ve lost everything a few times so it’s a legit paranoia.

I appreciate archive.org and it’s wayback machine so these words might be available no matter what happens to me or my e-world.

I post them without editing and/or reading over… sometimes I’ll read them over after I post and clean up auto correct or really horrid typos. the high school drop out grammar and dick-tion remains.

I’ll add it was hard not to edit the foot-in-mouth political talk… as time moves the politics of the 2016 us election keeps morphing into one big fucking what the fuck moment, day after day… it really seems to be building to a moment most artists from and of the underground have been calling for 50 years.

the following notes date from Oct. 2016 to the end of Jan 2017

————–

11/7/16

The more I know, the less I’m me.

————

11/13/16

And the tree ate me

And it ate itself

And it’s friend

And it’s nearest neighbor

And the leaves on the ground.

And the ground too.

————

11/19/16

Join the movement.

Which one, where?

This one, there.

Viva revolution!

The one over here.

The one, true movement.

This one, here.

I’m your voice.

Now sit down and shut up.

I’m your choice.

Now sit down, don’t act up.

———–

12/02/16

It’s about triumph over ignorance. They are a great example. Perhaps your view is from a class of person who always knew right from wrong, who was given the gift of education based in compassion. The beasties represented the juggalo class… and those lowclass motherfuckers need idols too.

————

12/04/16

Stephens ambrosia salad will now and forever represent the warmth of my mothers bosom. My mother was a whore.

—–

She had a real, original look.

Then it hit me.

She reminded me of a movie star…

One I use to masterbate to.

A lot.

Fuck, she was hot.

And as of yet I haven’t masturbated to this thought

of her.

and I remember…

I could smell her nurturing scent from across the table.

——–

What most don’t appreciate about freedom of speech is the fact that it encourages incrimination of self.

The more you speak, the more self revealed.

Even in lies.

And what a time saver a fully blossomed human communication would be.

Never having to give investment of self to a person whom you know

Up front

You are opposed.

More should label themselves.

More should wear their politics on their sleeve.

———————–

Now the USA can have its very own #Palestine with #northdakota and #NoDAPL

Perhaps the plan has always been to turn #Palestine into another tourist destination. You’re either a tourUSt or against us. #NoDAPL

——————

12/06/16

Artists serve the underground.

The underground is made up of the disenfranchised, the outcasts and the under-socialized.

The artist, NOT the pharmaceutical industry, it is the artist who makes the world a bit more comfortable and inclusive… comfort for those who are already disturbed by your status quo and discomfort to those who never knew, who followed the rules to a fault.

————–

12/06/16

This xmas imagine…

A Palestine for of and in the USA!

Privatized protest.

Sell you a sign

And a story

And a future identity

To use as your shield

Defense

From the view of the classes

Extra high powered glasses

They know

That you know

That they know…

You were always theirs.

Perhaps the plan has always been

to turn the new and improved

#Palestine, USA

into another tourist destination.

You’re either a tourUSt or against us.

IN PALESTINE USA! (Formally North Dakota)

—————–

12/07/16

I think the concept of “fake news” being of harm is something to take serious.

I’m for the free flow of information.

And the education of all.

Mistakes are part of that.

Most, MOST, want to find a trusted source.

And then the religious mind takes over.

And they follow.

What we need is real journalist…

If we had any real journalists, fake news wouldn’t stand a chance.

old yet major media had the responsibility to take the Wikileaks leaks to task… Had a real journalist dug and honestly revealed their facts, no matter who they hurt… Well, I’m not so sure standing rock would have had so many care or there for instance.

i’m not so sure the pressure we feel too-day would be so pressurized.

——————-

12/07/16

Some are skeptical of everything because everything has failed for them.

—–

The snowflake concept is very Christian.

To promote the idea that one can not be special is to forget the greats and all who have helped to progress man.

————

12/10/16

Wasn’t Che a leftist? Yea… Don’t think they are all so jimmy Stewart. The left, for me isn’t a feel good, stop, deal. For me the idea behind the left is, you are more productive when happy and healthy. You are less of a burden on resources. You are focused and without need so, with that health, you can now be the greatest you can be. And the libertarian ideals could take hold… We need one political foot in front of the other.

The shit we have now is set up to placate and repress… Including the blind consumption modern capitalism provides.

———–

Ahhh… Are you cute. So, you have faith in the human who titles them-self your savior? Yea… That shit is too religious for me.

Greed overcomes.

Power corrupts.

The system at large must be rethought from the ground up.

A system that combines political ideals and caters to science.

—————

What? The algorithm did not do the censors job?

You know, giving you all the news you can “like” in public…

While those you are afraid to “like” fade away into obscurity.

Well, a kinder gentler holocaust will do wonders for anxiety levels and production!

————–

Advice given: do not go off of your meds

Advice tested.

My advice: do not go off of you meds.

—————

12/14/16

a letter to a friend…

Did you know you were the only person to ever say… Do you know you scare people?

You.

We have known each other for a short period.

And yet your words, advice and kindness have made such an impact.

Now, I know I had to want that help, I was listening and seeking out a better world… I, as a young man had always imagined better and I have never given up on that.

It is truly troubling to understand that the push from the ignorant low end whites is the cloth I’m cut from… And how I once acted.

I want to talk with those people… But don’t think anyone is listening at this moment here.

At some point I’d hope they would.

As far as jobs go… I’d get one if I could and I’ve tried… My creative expression known as me hasn’t helped… Now I seem to be so messed up I’m not sure I could hold a job.

As far as submitting and being willing to serve others… I’ve never had issue with that… I was a great bartender, paperboy and have managed one of the first subway sandwich shops in the us…. Though, I didn’t make sandwiches for others… I’d talk too much to the customers. Hahahah.

Perhaps you are right and I’m an exception to the rule…

2017 might be the year of silence to me… Meaning I will turn my back to the world and just make art. I seem to only be able to do that, at this point.

I’d like to write more too.

Well, the anxiety pills are kicking in again and I’m feeling a bit better.

Love you… Thanks as always for being my friend and listening and giving me advice… So odd to be mothered as I push 50. So oddly wonderful.

Side note… Not sure if I’ve ever told you but I’ve always wanted to be a florist. Funny, huh? Hahahaha… When I was a boy a read an article about Jane Mansfields husband being a body builder and a florist and I loved the conflict of that and started to make flower bouquets… It’s like sculpture.

I look fwd to chatting and soon.

———————

12/15/16

I awake today sad.

And having a little more understanding of why.

This entire moment has brought back memories of ely, Minnesota.

A place that went to war with me and my family…

For our opinion.

For our expression.

The oddest part of being shunned…

No one asks you to explain.

Perhaps they don’t understand the complexities of communication.

Perhaps they are so complex

They can no longer hear the cries of the primitive…

Or read and see thru abstract communication.

I hear a pig raised on a farm will turn wild within 8 weeks of being let loose in the wild.

I haven’t a clue.

And if you’re not confused… You’re not paying attention.

And if you think different.

Continue to do so.

Proceed with cameras and technology.

Reason and focus.

—————

I’ve found… most of my expressions for my past were from a place of anxiety.

And they are screams of pain.

My wife with the help of friend…

———-

12/16/16

I can no longer cling to my past work.

It is from a time and place I’m not at anymore.

Clinging to it is making me sick.

Today, I must admit fault as an artist.

I gave in to what was easy attention.

The only attention I thought I could receive.

You see…

At some point…

Negative attention is all I knew.

So it’s my microwave way of getting attention

Today I must admit my struggle as an artist.

To communicate honestly.

How I feel today.

I haven’t been able to sculpt.

Because I can no longer look into my dark.

To be to person i want to be.

Not have to be TO SURVIVE.

My defense was a snarl.

I’d like it to be more smile.

Though, I’m willing to snarl.

No, no I’m not.

The snarl has exhausted me.

My defense must become my surrender.

Surrender, surrender… But don’t give yourself away.

I’d like to introduce you to less defensive me.

Little concern for how you might perceive these as weak.

I like flannel sheets.

And swallows.

When I was younger I wanted to be a florist.

When I was older I wanted to smile.

The news of the day strain…

Demands action.

But the honesty of man must shine.

Not the savage of the beast inside.

———————

It’s not easy, hate is like revisiting my father or mother, whom I miss… But, can not deal with the brutal disfunction that is my blue collar middle class… The numbness I can no longer bear… My screams have turned to sorrow to swallow.

————

The spark…

The initial spark…

I’m not so clear on that… Amy might be.

Presently…

I’m was an angry white who communicated to angry white males.

I left that conversation and never came back to it.

And many bumps in the road later…

And the time is now.

I’m struggling on who to explain…

I feel their pain

But I was wrong… A lot.

I was young and hadn’t a guide.

I’ve always made it real clear to put rage and pain into creative expression.

Presently so many are looking at each other’s differences.

When I met you it was a trip to find similarities.

And I did.

And I found you can talk it out.

You can even scream and shout…

But any talk of violence I can no longer bear.

I use to watch horror films.

Over the last 8 years I’ve seen only one.

Babadook-dook-dook.

I want to tell them

I can see the sunshine thru their pain.

I want to say… It’s warm.

And we all want the same…

Warmth.

———–

12/19/16

Asprin is the new magic…

write in occult language

Out of fear.

Write your scifi prophecy

Out of fear.

The need to blur our truths is over.

Strength can be found In Surrender.

Surrender to the will.

True will is guided by an honest heart.

Write in exacting truths

Out of strength.

When the pope exclaims

Magic dead…

LONG LIVE MAGIC!

HAIL SAGAN!

—————-

12/20/16

Very disheartened.

Pretty sure no one is paying much attention to anything or anyone but, I had to clear my head.

As angry as I’ve been… I’ve always used creative means to communicate my emotions and explore the depths of my curiosity.

I have raged against political correctness and have said and published some of the most hate filled, ugly publications I’ve ever seen.

I put out books and zines as an effort at understanding, I wanted to understand my rage and I wanted to understand yours.

Today, when I hear the tone and the lack of respect for others right to exist in peace, I’m sickened.

I struggled for quite a while to bring the stories of my zip code to the museums and libraries and those who might help.

Perhaps I’m a fool… I don’t know.

We send humans to the moon and fuck robots.

The primitive, base, ape rage I’ve expressed, as true as it was, just isn’t me today.

Today I’ll hope to retire from my ill-conceived past.

Today I’ll hope to be the me I wanna be.

Free.

Today I’ll hope to open my heart.

Freedom might have everything to do with a happy, healthy life.

It’s not the scream…

It’s the infected

And rejected heart.

Warm-regrets.

When I hear the bully of today… it’s like hearing me, my father, and the long line of bullies I have come from.

The ignorance in the collective bull voice is the evidence of our decline.

—————

Lord of the flys.

King of the slobs.

A for sure way to survive the lord of the flys…

Become the king of the slobs.

I renounce my crown.

—————

12/22/16

As I look thru my past work I can not help but wonder what the “witch” hunts of this moment might look like. There is no reason for lack of reason.

———

At some point my wife also became a mother to me… and mothers surrounded me and gave comfort and strength. They gave and their gift was growth… evolution.

Present day… I think the woman hold the answers to our problems.

I’m starting to feel complete…

Or like the kid I used to be.

———-

12/23/16

I’ve wanted to write a biography, but not… More of an explanation and documentation. I’ve been told it’s called an apologia.

But I haven’t anything to apologize for, as I look it all over.

While the stuff from my youth still serves me here and there… It is petty today.

And some of it is hard to explain…

And it’s hard to have a regret, for I know my intent is and was pure.

And loving

And a desire for understanding

And unity

I’ve sought answers and to understand… A journalistic endeavor.

And it is and was a thrilling and emotional time exploring such deep and some might say dark folks and THEIR interpretation of what I’ve published, said or sold.

I do not subscribe to a hate based philosophy at all.

I do not subscribe to a violent based philosophy at all.

But I for sure had a curiosity…

And some say bravery.

Today with bully pulpits all the rage and the angry white male on the rise, I’m sickened by what I see.

Sickened by the racial attacks.

Sickened by the gender attacks.

Sickened by the attacks on science

On education

On health care.

it just sickens me to see such ignorance.

Such lack of civility.

and a divide over a greeting… How poetic.

This entire moment makes me want to never speak again, not out of worry but because I’m not sure anyone is listening or even deserves it.

And I’m not sure my voice is anything but toxic, in this moment.

Maybe I’ve given too much.

Opened up too wide.

My efforts have revolved around my need for communication… Communication to gain understanding.

Communication to be understood

For me, the word MIGHT means strength.

Strength to survive.

Strength to thrive!

I know society seems to have stepped back about 30 years, but I refuse.

Today, might isn’t a sword and it isn’t something that includes force.

Your smartphone should be a clue.

Smart is the new might.

I want to appoligise for my past…

but how could I?

It was me, Im honest and open, some say to a fault.

I asked questions and have spoke out without acting out…

And I grew not only in years, but in mind.

These are my actions…

Creative and curious – passionate and confused.

A journalist.

A artist.

I have the opinion that if more folks explored their curiosities and pains thru creative means our species could have it ALL.

ALL as in…

world peace.

And

Clean water

And

an abundance of beauty both electric

And eclectic.

I have an excellent imagination… I can see peace today.

Art does save lives.

Smart is the new might.

Intelligence is freedom.

——–

12/23/16

For those who might want to analyze my abstract or odd expression.

For those who see my struggle and wonder why…

I’m really upset by those who voted for authority.

Sad.. Really.

It feels like I’ve lost you as pals…

Or a part of me knows I’ll never look at you the same.

I followed Bernies advice.

Because he has years of being RIGHT.

I voted democrat.

A bold confession among the times and my

None of the above friends.

When I did, I felt like I might have sold out.

Today, I’m glad I did.

I’d also like to state I’ve never been a member of any group, secret or not.

I do not subscribe.

I do have a personal philosophy and it revolves around

Live and let live.

Leave peaceful animals alone to grow

Alone to pursue happiness.

If you’ve noticed… I’ve been having quite the anxiety.

Awoken by an anxiety attack every night.

In my lifetime, This happens whenever a conservative enters office.

And it happens to most of my friends.

For thinking and speaking and living their minds.

Those are awful results for a person meant to lead

And unite.

I feel so many voted out of hate.

And so many are enjoying these sadistic days.

Of rot and remorse.

Your candidate.

Our president.

Reminds me of my father.

And of the self that he inspired.

The guy who makes a fist

And threatens

And is abusive

He reminds me of all my flaws.

And what I can’t stand about me.

And maybe you, who voted for him… Too.

Call these liberal tears.

And I’ll know you are that miss-directed

With the always intent of making others cry.

Cuckhold?

Ok… Sound fun…

And I bet it sounds fun to you too!

And you can’t see your wedge.

Is

Anti fun.

Anti love

Anti free thought.

Authority for one and all?

I will never side with that.

I will never understand how you did.

I will never look at you the same.

I had to say this.

I had to tell you how sad I feel

When I hear you say hi.

When I feel you reach out.

I feel like I’m mourning so many

Alive, old friends.

I will hope they accept responsibility

For the awful hate and rage

And the ugly beast they have raised.

Until we meet again…

Soup lines be damned.

———–

12/29/16

So, after much freaking out…

Anxiety attacks, panic attacks and what the doc tells me is some decent cPTSD issues… I feel the need to let you in on the root.

All of these highly charged emotions are a culmination of over 20 years of being questioned about who and what we are.

Or what I do or we did.

I find the concept of having to explain ones being as the ultimate obscenity.

And my being is attached to everything I create.

It’s almost like we never had the right to

Be who we want to be.

Or maybe it’s the curiosity that’s of danger.

The panic and anxiety I’ve felt and expressed over the last few weeks

Is rooted in real, mob rules mentality.

The passive aggressive building of a political pawn.

Lord of the flys

King of the slobs…

Over and over and over again.

It’s easy to beat on those from the underground

And those who speak in abstracts

And those who speak another craft

Or culture

Or color.

Easy pickings for the Status quo.

Always great reasons for bad results.

The scapegoat is…

And your need for

Another

Again and again

Over and over

Till time stands still

The scapegoat is…

a reflection of all you were not.

The coward you are

And all you wanted to be

Free

Smiling.

Living.

Loving.

And I have to wash YOUR paranoia off of me.

Wire brush.

And the witches burn.

And the culture wars rage.

curiosity killed the cat.

It’s easy to beat on those from the underground

And the underclass.

And the witches burn.

And the culture wars rage.

curiosity killed the cat.

Fit in or get out.

Lord of the flys reigns supreme.

Without care…

They haven’t a voice.

Without care…

You haven’t a voice.

That’s a pretty hefty fee for not going along.

For struggling to be me.

Free.

Wait a second… I could swear I see others loving their lives

Pursuing liberty and happiness.

I’ve even see folks who…

Publish books called publishers

And those who

Make art called artists

And…

The Filmmaker who’s called a filmmaker

The sculpture who’s called a sculptor

The author who’s called an author.

The journalist who’s called a journalist

Me, my kind, We’re questioned…

For asking questions.

Rules and their sliding scale of justice.

I am an artist, filmmaker, journalist, documentarian, author, publisher, soda pop maker, trailer park philosopher…

I am me.

Let me breath.

Let me be free.

——————

And if you aren’t punching a clock.

without an answer it can become quite hard.

—————

Ok and real quick…

The last few weeks have been a extremely hard time.

And as much as me talking about me is running its course… I’ll hope 2017 is less me and more of my work.

I felt the need to explain… There are some things I don’t like to leave open for others to interpret.

A lot of what I wrote was under the influence of…

The trauma of being misunderstood.

The history of harassment given to me for

Opinions and art.

My stuffs been taken at least 6 different times

Lost and left behind another 10.

Quite literally for the work I’ve published or I create.

And though I know I chose a health way to engage, to communicate, to express… It sure hasn’t been so healthy for me.

It’s not easy when folks look to the low class you and think they understand.

a bit confusing for sure.

And the separate standard I seem to be held to.

Fucking South Park… Really.

If you, your children, your town has access to South Park

How the fuck am i

——————-

The primitive voice is all the rage today

Just ask the museum

It’s all the rage unless you’re a primitive of today.

The primitive is to be taken from.

The primitive spirit.

Primitives of today

the same of yesterday.

The witches of Salem

the primitives of their day.

The metal head today.

The native people

the primitives of their day

The juggalo today.

Over the last week I’ve had some extreme anxiety attacks. Today, another layer of understanding has struck a root, rooted in a life of being pushed from town to town. Why? For what might be considered a primitive expression or rage or both or not.

It is an awful feeling to have to consider your being as

reason for others to act perverse, to hurt, to shun in the name of justice and love. To destroy in the name of progress.

To be displaced over and over because the tribe you came

a primitive one

a world of psychosis, paranoia, fear and loathing.

And your institutional learning facilities.

And all we wanted was a Pepsi.

————–

Paranoia.

Projected upon me for being me.

For them not being their self.

And the armchair diagnosis

From fools of status quo

for the zipcode up high.

Higher than mine.

But just low enough to gift

the insecurities of the

working class.

Paranoia will destroy ya…

And

The sociopath wears a good guy badge.

And calls out the odd as perverse

To hide their well of despair.

Their own need for repair.

To hide the problems and perversions

In ideals

They pretend to hold dear.

Their closet full and

About to runneth over.

Beware the good guy badge

It might masks a monster

Paranoid.

————

As a very curious youth I explored all I deplored in my father and the culture and times I was raised.

Looking back on my past work…

I don’t want to anymore.

It just reminds me of all I survived

parents who couldn’t love.

It reminds me of

what life is with out love.

How lonely and cold a world without can be.

Might does not make right.

The book, the doctrine…

A bully pulpit.

Balance is the goal.

Control defines

Insecure

lack of balance.

It is love, compassion and cooperation that makes life.

And intelligence and education that brings a quality to.

The balance is love, compassion and cooperation.

Strength in self is noble.

might over others is obscene.

Nuances.

Complexities.

Differences.

Essential to evolution.

It is time to embrace the nuances of life, of the individual

So we might… Become one.

—————-

What I received for publishing obscene books.

Shunned

Ostracized

A narly snarl

No job security

A constant free fall

A few rotten teeth

A view so broad

And a real bad attitude.

One million cuts.

To shoulder other artists statements.

Their expression was cut into me.

And to push fwd the extreme and obscene

Took a free mind motive.

And passion.

And a certain kind of naïveté

One you find in me

Dropped out the day of 16

My dirt

Lubbock, Tx.

Born in a trailer park.

One motive has always been

For the world to hear our cries.

Our, the pained.

Those born in poverty.

Those born in semi-poverty

The underclass.

And upper low-class

Those who wanted more

And even those who settled, gave in and gave up.

The cries of those who want a shot.

Who’d like help.

Who haven’t a clue.

To be more

To be one

And for anyone who has ever said I took the money and ran.

Yea, that was the plan?

Fools.

But, Can you count sucker?

An underground richman!

Never heard of one.

Well, maybe one.

Or two

Maybe three.

But never obscene.

Ok, some.

But never from the bottom.

always the exception.

Held high

To cover up

The crime of

turned backs

The crime from

My mind

Mind crime.

Stolen identity.

But really.

There’s nothing but

Extreme pain and torment

Having published Obscene books.

And self pride.

I am proud of

How hard I fought and pushed

For the cries of others

Because they were the cries of mine.

To champion humanities champions.

They came to get the artist once

They came for me one thousand cuts.

Give it a try.

————-

What I’ve seen deemed obscene

Are the truths, the pains and the screams of and from the forgotten class.

From the extremely disturbed

From the extremely exploited

————

I’ve only been myself.

With what little I understood.

With what little I had been given.

I’ve only been myself.

————

Now to navigate. Now to communicate to the deaf, to the blind, to the primitive…. Now, how? Probably in the abstract… The one language all species speak… I think.

————

01/02/17

As a kid, I’d climb a Picasso sculpture. As a teen, lunch next to a miro…

As far as formative… I’d say public art is.

Chicago has some of the best public art and the museums there are second to none.

As far as formative… I’d say museums are.

Amy and I spent new years day at the Portland art museum and hiking with Lucy.

Thinking back to Chicago and the public art and the pain and the museums and the cold and lonely a huge city has to offer, a city like no other.

Public art gives someone looking for more an option… the museums, if not run as a glorified gift shop or child safe play land, I think, really do add so much to the human experience and condition.

Art saves lives.

———-

01/04/17

Ive noticed, artists at a similar level of “suck-cess” usually have respect for one another, that doesn’t mean that they respect one another’s work or politics.

And/or behind the curtain we are all freaks

and/or we can take our masks off and be human among true peers.

The human moment is rare among competitors who might consider themselves peers because of zipcode, age or similar interests.

Ive also noticed, those who want to be artists (free) and have yet to achieve personal or measurable “suck-cess”, usually have a need to destroy the dedicated career artist because of their work or perceived or spoken politics.

B. I find the study of the past artists and the history of art as something that stagnates other artists… They, the studied, seem to be blocked by or inspired by where their art studies take them.

Inspiration should be a guide over training or trends.

And/or I can’t see why you can’t be both Warhol and beuys.

With the curtain lifting and transparency our future, it seems we will need to accept the 3D of our species and quit forcing a 1D identity in order to fit and fold to the whims of trends, of sales of safety.

——————

I use to love podcasting… Presently, I take a few steps fwd. and wonder why I would, what’s in it for me and what does it accomplish? distraction or inspiration, helping others be the self or selves they want or helping frauds forge ahead with an identity to belong… Is it the perverse ego or the pure ego, let go of my eggo!… It’s becoming harder and harder to work with others or want to be generous and give to others… Though I do love to play.

———–

1/5/17

Joy Division… I missed this band in my youth. What a great band. Art and emotions… Pure documentation & timeless. Great art. Relate.

——————-

I don’t need to hold hate to love.

hate holds back the power of love to the point it morphs love into a weed that needs to splinter and creep and crawl to survive…

to over power the flower of hate.

And love will overpower hate.

Hold no hate and the power of love will thrive.

Hold hate and the power of love will choke and crucify and still survive…

And seed a perverse and unbalanced fruit.

Work remains.

———-

1/8/17

Art as throwing stones?

Don’t be a glass house.

Art as weapon.

That’s a pretty nutty thought.

Screw and nut.

Intent and interpretation.

How could either ever matter with art?

It’s like saying lies are more important

Than truth.

For the truth hurts…

Or heals

Or lessons…

Of love and hate.

Words, art…

Like air and water for some.

And invisible to others.

And some can see you breath.

I guess what I’m saying is folks see what they want to see.

And feel what they need to feel

At that moment…

In their mind.

Tomorrow another mind.

Never-mind.

Forgot.

What?

Political theory

Religious or not.

Spiritual journeys…

Right and wrong

Left and long…

They are not and will never be stones.

If the ice age hit today

Would you feel cold and pain?

Or would you regret arguing over an illusion

Over feeling love

And warmth.

Art, words

Can never equal

The love of a mother

Or the advice of a father…

Figure.

This sun has a broad stroke of communication some consider art.

I consider my life my only pain-ting.

The light I shine

Casts a larger shadow.

So what.

And if someone were to take it hard…

To consider it one way?

They see something they probably should take harder than hard.

For the probably see them selves or their trigger

Or their monster

Or their demon

Or their angel

Or their regrets

Or their intent.

And why?

Right!

Wrong!!

Hahaha.

And they are criminals…

They have stolen my voice

Turned it to stone

And threw it at you…

And me

And the collective we.

Fuck that

And them.

I mean no harm

But I’m ok if you’re pained.

I mean no love

But I’m ok if you give me a hug.

I mean no hate

But I really fucking hate you…

For that…

For stealing my voice

To attack.

Your war, not mine.

My effort is one of

Understanding

And understood.

Of wanting more

So I can look others in the eye.

The life of a scapegoat.

The easy punchline

The easy blame.

The pushback insane.

Each side of the nut

As it is turned

One thousand cuts.

———–

1/24/17

Every car that passes I think it might be you.

Every cloud that passes I think of you.

The frustrations I feel…

I try to run…

from.

The frustrations I feel…

I must create…

Too need-ie

Too much want.

Not enough give or take.

Time slipping away.

I wait.

It gets further and further away.

No conversation

Lack of communication.

My friend turned frustration.

I can not…

Put words to

My…

Obscene need of you.

My…

Obscene want of more…

Time with you.

I’m sorry I ever hurt you.

I hate how you hurt me.

I wish I knew now what I knew then.

—————-

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